


All Rise, Ye Faithful

by evilNira



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Four Horsemen, Friends to Lovers, Hate Crimes, Implied Past Relationships, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Real Events, Intimacy, Love, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Riders of the Apocalypse, Romance, character exploration, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-22 07:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19662994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilNira/pseuds/evilNira
Summary: We all know they've been together for 6000 years, then the Not-So-Apocalypse they bore together too. But what exactly changed between them? 6000 Years Ago, Aziraphale tolerated the demon Crowley. In 322 B.C. Aziraphale see's Crowley in a different light, that the demon fears rejection, not from Heaven nor Hell, but from him. Somewhere in the 18th Century, Aziraphale comes to find that Crowley would do anything for him; without asking or prompting, even risking his life. Spotted throughout time, Aziraphale learns exactly what it is to love, to accept it, to return it and not deny it when it's presence manifests in your own heart. And it took 6000 years, millions of rejections, countless losses, eternal heartache and one breakup and Apocalypse for the angel to believe.To believe in himself, and in the Fallen who risked his life.ORHow Aziraphale is literally repressed and in constant denial for his feelings or rationalizing them away, Crowley is afraid to lose him in numerous ways, and yet the Universe (Or God, whichever) keeps pushing them together. In tighter and tighter situations. They really needed a lot of pressure to confess, didn't they?Will edit tags as I am reminded/add stuff





	1. War: That Prologue-y Bit

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea for a story that sort of ran away from me, but I hope you all like it. I have a lot of it written and what I post has been edited/cleaned up so it's not fucking garbled (I hope). It's definitely a mixture of my original idea, meant to shortER and more concise, but hey, I don't write short fics, I'm here for the long brutal haul of hurt/comfort shit. 
> 
> I hope you all like it, been debating for weeks whether or not my stuff was on par with what I've read, so, bear with me and review gently, if you are so kind :3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War was obvious in her devices until it becomes boring to sword fight and shoot bullets; then War changes perspectives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally believed to be longer. That bit where I said "The story ran away from me" well I mean chapters also ran away from me too, they might fluctuate in length depending on what's going on- though from here on out, they ought to be longer. So I made this a prologue-like bit. It's not at all a prologue, I'm aware XD I was going to stack "war", "pestilence/pollution", "famine" and "death" all in their respective chapters, but those'd be some long ass chapters, so to draw it out and give me more "creative freedom" we'll say or less restrictions, lets make it one of those big chaptered fics, yeah?

War was a tricky thing that had come about sometime between man establishing territory and learning the word _possession._ Of course Crowley didn’t think they actually _knew_ the word, _possession_ , but rather understood that something one found ought to be there’s. Thus when it was stolen, one would require it back, through bloody means if necessary.  
“ _Was_ that necessary?” the angel at Crowley’s side said with an exasperated sigh. “I put a lot of work into giving them fire and now they’re…”  
“Using a natural element to fight a natural enemy; one another,” Crowley pouted teasingly at the angel before smirking. “It wasn’t _my_ idea, I simply…”  
“You simply _what?”_ Aziraphale said with a frustrated noise in his throat that had the demon turning towards his… _friend?_ With a curious look. “Thought it okay to thwart my thought-out gift to the humans?” He huffed at him but he didn’t seem at all angry, the demon would have sensed it, known about it. Frustrated as the angel might have been, he couldn’t truthfully hold it against Crowley, it was after all, his nature to _meddle_ . But it had been some years.  
_Many_ years, and whilst yes, Crowley and he often clashed over small instances they performed, miracles scoffed by temptations, devious plots overthrown by better judgement, Crowley had never been… _callous_ in his work. In fact, he seemed more curious and deviant than cruel and malicious. Not like other demons, and there had been a few. And those few had never won over Aziraphale. The angel sighed once more when the last man perished beneath another, and as a woman stepped from the battlefield as if there all along. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Both Crowley and Aziraphale narrowed their eyes at the nude woman, only covered by scraps of leather armor, over shoulder, around a waist.   
She oozed… death, it felt like, but Aziraphale raised his arm out, out towards Crowley- blocking the demon from pushing forward, as if he had wanted to protect him. Her aura pulsed with malice and the Angel backed them both away- “I suppose I have you two to thank for this.” She gestured to the slaughter, blood on her face and between her teeth, a streak of dried blood matted her hair.   
“I do not believe we’ve met before,” Aziraphale tries a calm voice and it might be overlooked by most, but Crowley can feel her energy just as well as the Angel’s, and he doesn’t like it one bit. Doesn’t like how she’s upsetting his… we’ll just say friend, to make it easier.   
“No, I’ve come now as humanity grows,” she eyes them both with a wicked smile before she vanishes just as quickly.  
“War,” Crowley says eyeing the men picking over the remains of those they slaughtered. “She’s one of the horsemen of the apocalypse.” Crowley doesn’t meet Aziraphale’s eyes as the Angel gasps and looks to him. “You know it, God’s Great-”  
“Ineffable,” Aziraphale tries to correct but Crowley frowns.  
“-Plan, end of the world, whooosh,” he gestures wildly before him, attempting to mimic flame or something else, the Angel does not ask. “The others will come, I mean, Death’s around, but he’s always around- mortality was given to man and thus something had to end it, she’s the first- to be thought up by man.”  
“And the others? You must know when their lot will arrive,” he says and Crowley… his expression is soured but it’s masked, his true emotions buried under a facade and Aziraphale swallows.  
“I assume you think it will be _my lot_ to get humanity to summon the Horsemen, eh? That it?” Crowley snarls then, but his face remains muted in his expression. “If it’s evil it _must_ be the job of a demon, right? Tempting, cruel, death and evil, it’s alllllll we got time for isssss it?” Aziraphale bows his head at the onslaught- yes he thought demons we’re evil, and Crowley was a demon, but he did not think Crowley was evil- but he was _in fact_ a demon so- “Figuressss.” It’s said through his teeth as the Demon turns about and marches off, gone long before Aziraphale can apologize for so harshly suggesting it would be _Crowley_ who would raise the horsemen. As Hell’s representative on earth, it would be him to influence the minds, wouldn’t it?  
“I am sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale says to himself, closing his eyes and leaving the warzone soon after.


	2. What Comes From War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War can be seen and felt but never truly experienced. The Pelopensian War takes place, yet when the Olympics are held in Elis, is there truly war if you cannot see it, cannot feel it? Aziraphale knows one thing; the war on being different hasn't even begun yet his heart aches to think he and Crowley are so very... .. unique from one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I wasn't about to leave a less than 1000 word count chapter as the start of a story and see how it went XD nah. So, the first chap is short and sweet, as was meant for *all* the chapters that followed the Riders but uh, that bit about the writing and story getting away from me, wellllllll that definitely happened within their respective "chapters" too. And that brings us to the second part of War's story, that literally.... well I'll let you figure out what it does.

And so, fast forward a few hundred years and they find themselves in war once more. Though this is on a larger scale, and one could, if they wished, closed their eyes and ears to the massacre and feign delight in their respective homes and villas. For War was distant and not close to the heart any more, but raging bigger and brighter. War came, even when they were at festivals or celebrating their gods- on one such occasion, war waged quietly outside the rolling hills, but within Elis, there was no war.  
In fact, it was quite the opposite. The Olympic Games could hold as much sway as winning the war- how many wreaths a competitor could win in a year for their country. Despite that war was on, Aziraphale could not help but be overwhelmed with all the celebration- feeling the merriment and excitement that funneled in through the people that came- evening bumping into a figure in charcoal-robes- “Oh, my sincerest apologies friend, I had not been- Crowley?”  
“Angel, interesting that you’re here,” and the Angel frowned at the smug smirk those lips curled into.  
“And why is it interesting that I am here?”  
“Oh with all the… hyper masculinity and nudity, I thought, I dunno, maybe your eyes would’ve burned out?” He sipped wine from an expensive goblet of gold, it didn’t look like it was his, frilly as it was with jewels and flowers embellished upon it. “Plus with all the rampant-”  
“Yes, you’ve made your point, but these are God’s creatures, and they are pure in their own ways,” a few fighters began to strut past them, nude in all their glory and Aziraphale had to shield his eyes as Crowley grinned beneath his new-found fondness for sun shades; this ridiculous invention to cover his eyes that lay seated over the bridge of his nose.  
“Oh yeah, pure as angels,-”  
“Now I didn’t say that-” one burped as if on cue and the Angel frowned at the Demon though with little effect. “What are you doing here?”  
“Just a few temptations, not hard, either, murmur one little thing, and whoosh, all down hill,” Crowley gestures at one man whose drunken antics finally land him in a spot of trouble. “Oh aye, that’s gonna be a big flogging for him, for sure. Was that one of the pankration competitors?”  
“Of course,” the Angel sighs beside Crowley when his eyes catch something new out of the corner of his eyes- it’s- just so strange though. Odd as it is- what is strange and new out of the corner of his eye is none other than Crowley, a smile on his face as he enjoys the boxing match before him. At first, Aziraphale believes it to be that Crowley is enjoying humans hitting one another until they yield, but it isn’t that at all. He’s just enjoying the fight, like any other human would. And that… seems so odd for Aziraphale that when he’s caught looking, he doesn’t even feign his abrupt stare.  
“Lose something over here, Angel?”  
“No, no,” he says clearing his throat- watching the men fight- how the sun makes their sweating skin glisten and the way and their muscles flex and shift- “Do you mind if we leave?”  
“Leave?”  
“Well I wanted to ask you some questions, next I saw you-”  
“I suppose, it must be short, I’m here to meet Alkiabades for some-”  
“Oh, Lord, don’t even say it,” the Angel raised his hand with a groan. “If I have to read another request to, glamor than young man into shifting the war-”  
“Not what you’re into-”  
“No, it’s not-” Aziraphale felt a blush creep up his neck and thanked his determined stride that it kept him ahead of Crowley. “That wasn’t my point. He could be a great man, but Head Office is so insistent on distracting him. They’re not even concerned that humans are _at_ war."  
“They do it quite a lot you know,” Crowley said as they ducked into a small seating area for refreshments. “Whatever he wants-” He waved and a few coins came to his hand and donated to… whichever set of Gods they were worshipping this century. “Sssso, what did you want to talk about? This is highly irregular, an Angel and a Demon-”  
“Oh hush,” Aziraphale says with a huff. “I… I wanted to ask you something personal, and don’t take this the wrong way, I- I could find out another way if you refuse.”  
“Oh now my curiosity is piqued, tell me dear Angel, what ails you so?” He knew the demon was teasing him, making fun of him but, again, there was no spite that filled him and no disgust that came from the man- demon- across from him, just… a calm. A jovial sort of calm. Playful. He found that he… rather liked (and enjoyed, much to his chagrin) being around Crowley, when they were in the same respective areas. It made working with mankind far more relaxing and if he was honest, entertaining too.  
“Was… is it Hell’s plan to awaken the horsemen to ravish mankind? I- I just want an answer Crowley, were you- involved-”  
“You think it was me who put the ideas into mankind’s head to slaughter and decimate one another?” He hisses through his teeth, brows furrowed and nearly touching together-- despite Aziraphale staring straight into Crowley’s face, his eyes often darted away too quickly, glanced offward- avoidance. Whatever Aziraphale wanted to see in those serpentine eyes, the demon didn’t let him. His long hair helped, he supposed, to keep his peripheral vision concealed, but it was obvious the demon had formed a tick; a great dislike for his eyes. Shading them as he did with hoods when he could. The angel does know one thing, despite not catching good glimpses of his eyes. He knows Crowley is brewing with discourse and upset, chocked full of rage.  
Yet… there’s something else lodged in the demon’s throat, something that isn’t just anger or frustration… no, it sounds like hurt. And in a moment, he’s overcome with the feeling, billowing off of Crowley- “You think they tell me a single thing they’re plotting? I get some memos, do some bad deeds, spread dissent, and I get a pat on my back- what makessss you think that even if I knew I would tell you, angel.” It’s the first time in centuries- no, ever, that Crowley has said angel in such a condenscending way.  
It feels like a slap in the face and Crowley is gone from the table just as quickly- whatever waves of emotion rippling off his shoulders as he saunters off, vanishes nearly instantly. He can’t explain what it was he felt just then, wants to follow after his fr- follow after Crowley but a hand upon his shoulder stops him.  
“You must be Aziraphale,” Ah, well. “I do not believe we’ve met personally, I’m Alkiabades.”  
“Ah, a great pleasure, a chance to meet you,” Aziraphale covers any sign of concern for h-- Crowley and turns his attention to his target. It would take a miracle to get Alkibiades to actually be chaste, and he’s long given that up.  
“Yes, I know we’ve not met personally, but I’ve heard so much about you from your friend Crowley, what a captivating man he is,” the way he says his name, there’s something fierce and sour that rumbles in Aziraphale’s chest, something unfilter and hot-- jealousy? No, no Heaven’s no, from an angel? He scoffs internally but the way that the Athenian stares after where the demon went, he has to use a pretty little miracle himself not to give his hand away.  
Alkibiades invites him out for a talk, invites him later to dinner too- invites him to their private little symposium- although it wasn’t quite what the Angel had in mind. And later, excusing himself from such, he followed a voice he recognized, muffled and it sounded as if in pain- choked. A few rounded corners of the symposium brought Aziraphale to the voice- to Crowley. To Crowley on his knees behind a very indisposed Alkibiades- fucki-- performing sexual intercourse; his mind ruptured. He stared, so shocked and incapable of movement-  
Did Crowley always look like that? Determined and full of lust, enticing and perfect- Aziraphale shook his head but he must have made a noise for he felt before he saw those sharp snake-like eyes upon him. They spoke, they laughed, they drank- they felt and they cared, they wanted everything. Yet nothing happened. Crowley had paused for the shortest of seconds catching Aziraphale in the doorway. It had only been a few seconds, but between them, it was a lifetime. A couple millennia to be exact. Sweat ran down his face, and one, Aziraphale saw, went straight over his Name, his true named etched upon the side of his head, just before his ear. Something raw in Aziraphale broke at that-  
And it was that moment which Aziraphale fled quickly. Memories lingered and played across his mind in flashes that made him dizzy and lightheaded. They had shared so much together, it felt as though they had a whole conversation in two and a half seconds that their eyes met- thankfully, whatever the reason Alkibiades hadn’t noticed him, he’d have invited the angel and then he’d have really burst. The angel needed to leave. His feet took him quickly and hands guided him down hallways as he sought air- sought distance and- and quiet.  
When he found himself outside amongst the cool air and the stars, he covered his mouth with a shaking hand- bless this cool air, bless whoever made it and put it there right then, for he never felt as flushed or as unnerved as he did right then. Thousands of years and never had- he assumed that- well--  
Now he couldn’t even think it. Couldn’t even say it. He decided he had to leave Greece- come h-hell or high water, he could not remain in Greece, at least for a few days, to give him some room to breathe. The image burned into his mind like sacrilege but, no, Aziraphale did not cast it aside, he coveted it. Placed it somewhere far in the recesses of his mind with all their shared memories- Crowley, it seemed, had more of an affect on the angel than he could have properly anticipated.  
Crowley, on the other hand, experienced the same things; their conversations and lunches, the food dates through the years, light bickering and teasing, the companionship shared they could not find anywhere else on earth. Something drove the demon to finish more quickly- no, not something. A very important _someone_ that had wandered through the symposium looking for that noise. The demon wanted nothing more than to leap up and follow after Aziraphale, to take his hand and tell him that that wasn’t what it looked like.  
But as Crowley sat on the edge of the bed with a sleeping Alkibiades beside him, he wondered would the Angel even understand. Could he understand? Did the Angel even feel what Crowley had in that moment their eyes connected- did he feel the want that dripped like sweat, or the glee that poured from his heart at the sight of the fluffy white hair and bright smile. He rubbed at his neck as his eyes slithered over the exposed back of a very satisfied Athenian statesman, eyes heavy with sorrow and regret. Coupling with humans hadn’t exactly been what Crowley was put on Earth to do, but it passed the time and could incite certain jealousies to take place. Nothing ever so serious as death or punishment- no harm ever came from it. He stood and miracled his clothes back to him and left, following the scent of the angel that still lingered in the air.  
It was full of weakness and desperation and pine. Where did he even smell pine trees? Yet, when he came to the end of the trail, there was no angel in sight, and if he closed his eyes projected his senses outwards across the lands, no Aziraphale came upon his radar. It was temporary, Crowley assured himself, the angel still had unfinished business in Greece, no doubt, and he hoped… _prayed_. Prayed, as his eyes rose upwards to the heavens, that Aziraphale would let him speak next they saw one another and reserve judgement. Not all of God’s angels were pure and kind as Aziraphale.   


* * *

It was a few days later when Crowley spotted the familiar puffy platinum hair and directed himself towards the fellow immortal with purpose, but once within range? He lost that courage and approached meekly from behind, slithering like the coward he was. “Surprise to see you still in Greece.” They were watching horse races- the chariot races, rather, speeding round and round, shame if a wheel broke free and Athens won- his snake-eyes turned back to the Angel who squirmed a bit under his gaze. “For what it’s worth, Angel, I had hoped you’d never see me like that.”  
“L-Like what-”  
“Like a man tempted,” his voice was low, easily deafened by the cheering of the crowds, but Aziraphale heard it. Heard it like it had been shouted at him, and his stun was obvious, it made Crowley sneer in disgust. “What? Surprised that I have standards?” he hisses behind his teeth and throws his bag of peanuts with the crowd at the winner before he composes himself. “I do, if you were ever curious. Maybe an angel wouldn’t understand, after all, a reason we all Fell was because…”  
“You sought knowledge forbidden,” Aziraphale says with a gentle and calming voice and at first the demon thinks he’s being made fun, teased, but when he turns his snarl to the man beside him… the smile of kindness and genuine earnesty startles him, eyebrows thrown high in a moment of disbelief before the demon finds himself relaxing. “Whatever demons are tacked onto having is because others set the example. You don’t all… spare children.”  
“Ssssee I knew I shouldn’t have told you that,” Crowley groans into the air and Aziraphale chuckles.  
“That you can be-”  
“Don’t say it, angel, it’s bad enough you’re squirming like a kid with candy,” he points accusingly but the angel does nothing but look utterly pleased with himself; if Crowley knew anything at all (and he did know a lot about many things), Aziraphale looked _cocky_. They fell into a contented silence watching the next race, every now and again they’d comment on who they had miracled away a problem or tempted them into one. It was playful banter until silence once more took them and Aziraphale asked Crowley to lunch again. Sitting amongst other nobles and leaders and competitors they were inconspicuous amongst the crowd, though they always had been.  
“If you don’t mind me asking, Crowley, what-” he paused and chose his next words carefully for he always felt on edge when those golden eyes would slide over in his direction, slitted and curious, eager to hear what the angel would ask with _interest_ and _want_. Not, a, lustful want, or a sexual want- just a _want_. A need. Insatiable curiosity had not been what demons were given when they Fell from Heaven, but Aziraphale wondered if that isn’t what separated Crowley from the rest of his kin. “When I… came upon you…” those golden eyes lowered in a bit of shame and the angel cursed-- oh, uh, lamented-- he couldn’t actually see what else was swimming in those depths when the demon glanced away. “I suppose, it’s not really a question-”  
“You want to know why? Or for how long? When did I start finagling with the locals? Mingling with the riffraff?” the tone in Crowley’s voice is tight and harsh, full of long hisses and hard consonants to drive home his discomfort. “You want to know what tempted the demon to temptation.” Aziraphale swallowed and Crowley felt the waves of doubt wash over him, the discomfort too, that the angel shared, but… it was different than before.  
Before, it was a discomfort of the conversation, the topic unsettled the angel as he was pure and holy, believed in the good and righteous, thus malicious or cruel, even just tempting ideas could make his stomach churn, but this unsettled feeling? It was… different but the demon couldn’t tell why. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either, lest he spend another century caught aching for something he would always be denied. “Let me tell you.” Aziraphale swallowed again, but leaned in a little closer upon seeing Crowley do the same and whisper across the table. “They’re getting bloody good at tempting, no joke.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes so hard, Crowley worried he’d never see his stunning gray-blue eyes again.  
“That’s what your excuse is? Tha-that, that a human, a mortal tempted a demon more?” He couldn’t believe it, stuffing a few grapes into his mouth, utter disbelief. “I do not, cannot believe that Crowley.”  
“What? Must I be immune to such things? That’s what demons do, tempt, seduce, betray- I’m not immune to those, I feel them as much as any mortal does- it’s you who cannot believe it because you cannot feel those things,” Crowley slouched in his chair, overlooking the crowd coming and going, eyes unfocused and staring blankly wherever they landed. “He was tempting and I gave in. There’s no harm in it and what does it matter to you what business I conduct? It’s not like he was an angel, imagine that.” Aziraphale hadn’t realized how much it would sting to hear Crowley tell him that angels don’t feel; that they don’t experience joy or sadness, or want or cravings, that they couldn’t possibly comprehend the desire to be loved and needed because they were, selfless holy beings, created for the sole purpose to give help, deliver love.  
Were Angels and Demons so different from one another, that it spewed a hatred on both sides that could last millennia? It had already. Yet it stung Aziraphale. Wounded him that Crowley thought he would… _judge him_ , that he wouldn’t understand. Aziraphale was supposed to be surrounded by love and goodness, but all he had was his own virtues.  
And Crowley.  
He couldn’t forget that the Serpent of Eden had remained by his side for now almost 4000 years- give or take a century or two.  
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale started with a whine in his throat, but never finished. He either lost the words, failing to conjure them up or they were being choked and unable to voice them. Instead, he just stared at his… friend, in a bit of wonder, disbelief and shock. It made absolute sense, with the way Crowley put it. Why wouldn’t a demon feel the same compulsions? Obviously to lesser a extent, they could resist such things if their life was in danger.  
Angels didn’t need to eat, but Aziraphale enjoyed pasties and small sweet delights, one which Crowley always put up with. Recalling that no matter the age, Crowley always joined Aziraphale on his journeys to discover brilliant food, how he never judged that it had gotten him into a fair bit of trouble often times, he always joined. Always ate with him. Happily, too, if his memory served. “I am sorry, Crowley.” This caught those brilliant eyes again, this time widening as his arched brows rose upon his forehead as if he did not hear what the angel had said; or more accurately, didn’t believe the words. “I judged you wrongly, my dear. I did not intend to… hurt you.” He chose instead and those eyes never left his face and he felt himself grow hot under the gaze, nervously worrying his fingers against one another.  
“You surprise me, angel,” Crowley said, sliding his long delicate fingers around the goblet of wine and taking a few drinks before speaking again. “Maybe we even feel more than humans, all the emotional range a person can have, a demon can; tenfold in some circumstances.” He swirled the wine and took a whiff of it but frowned afterwards. “Since we’re on the topic, can I ask you a question?”  
“Of course,”  
“If I were ever… in that situation again-”  
“God help me-” Aziraphale warned-  
“Hear me out,” the demon put his hands up in defense. “Hear me out. If I were in that situation again, giving in to temptation-” he gave a mocking expression and gesture that indicated he was still wounded by Aziraphale’s outburst and berating. “If I was ever in trouble… because of it… say by mortals or… psssh, I dunno, another demon…”  
“What are you trying to ask, my dear?”  
“Would you…” he makes a vague gesture with the wine glass and then sighs- “Would you help me?”  
“What sort of silly-” but Aziraphale flares his nose and exhales with a bit more frustration than he’d like to admit. “Of course I would. I do not judge you-” but the sharp glare he received told him to change his words- “Do not want to judge you, Crowley.”  
“Even though I’m different than you?” That. That’s what this was all about. That Crowley was different from Aziraphale and thus didn’t actually deserve the angel’s help, neither of them really did, to be honest. An Angel ought to not receive help from a demon, less he come under scrutiny of loyalty and demon? Well, they were far less kind in their reprimands of… fraternizing. All Crowley’s worry rode on their difference, Fallen and Not. Aziraphale couldn’t begin to grasp why the demon was hung up on their differenc-- Oh. His eyes watched Crowley sit, hunched in his seat as he always did, no matter the era. Crowley wanted to know because Aziraphale brings up their differences.  
“Why on earth would you think I wouldn’t?”  
“Because, I’m a demon and you’re an angel, you idiot,” its a sharp reaction, Aziraphale swears he can see the forked tongue slither between his teeth in rage. “I want to know you would do it because it was the right thing to do, not because it was the righteous thing to do-” but then Crowley waves his hands for Aziraphale to shut his mouth- “You know what, never mind, I’ll just stick to the tempting and my devious wiles, and you can just be a good little angel and do as he’s told.” He strode upwards and began to march away but something kept him from proceeding forward. It almost felt like lightning had struck around his wrist with its time, but it was a hand; a warm, but gentle hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him from leaving-  
“Crowley!” He shouted and the entire caveat of people stopped and stared and the angel bowed his head but Crowley snapped his fingers and the people returned to their meals. “I would come to your aide, not because it was righteous- it is not righteousness that compels me to help people, it’s because its the right thing to do.” The angel sees a crack in Crowley’s facade, his lips quiver in absorbing his answer. “Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, whe-”  
“-When it is in your power to act,” the demon finishes sourly, as if the words have left a nasty taste upon his tongue. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I was an angel once, I remember the words very clearly and the ones that brand me now.”  
“Well?”  
“Well what?”  
“Are you going to sit back down and finish lunch with me? Or are you determined to be a snagglepuss and disrupt a perfectly good meal with being, what’s the word-”  
“Petulant?”  
“Yes, that one, thank you,” Aziraphale says with a kindness that almost begets teasing a little harshly of his friend. “Are you?”  
“If we can get more wine then, I’ll concede,” it was not hard to have another jug brought to them for their table, and despite the wrenching in his gut, Crowley felt, at least, _there is still one good angel in Heaven._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so now that you spent the great majority of this chapter reading and finding out it has nothing to do with War, are you *sure* you're reading to keep reading about their relationship and how stupidly I can run away with this slowly deteriorating plot I had sorta had? >:3
> 
> go gentle, please, I am aware it is trash-like. Faux trash.


	3. Shifting Tides of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slapped between jumping oceans from peace rally to anti-war rally, to civil rights rally- both angel and demon are at end's rope with War. Aziraphale contemplates exactly what Crowley is put on Earth to do, because it certainly shouldn't be righting alongside him. He's also very certain that he shouldn't be siding with the demon on occasion either, but if it's for good? Would Head Office even notice? What's more, the angel worries fretfully that his friend is standing on the edge of the proverbial cliff, waffling from risks he's taken over the years. Aziraphale thinks, that perhaps a twist in a request isn't quite a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, have all of War's "chapter" together in one go. No, this isn't really book accurate, no it's not really TV accurate either, I assume in my own little headcanon that they often jump countries and continents; rare as it is, maybe something worldly effects them and thus, must be there to oversee and assure it goes right. I picked certain things to guide the ineffable husbands down a certain path in their relationship, what I see that blossoms (duh it's why I'm writing it and I love them)
> 
> so enter at your own risk. If there is historical inaccuracy, say so nicely, I don't mean and have zero intentions to harm/offend anyone that may read this and point out issues. If I am ignorant, educate me.

1950’s and 60’s America were a whirlwind neither angel nor demon enjoyed, but were sent to oversee (on rare occasion) and cause their appointed miracle and temptation, the two often found themselves together. War had lessened its bloodthirst for swords, and guns, and opted for something more subtle; wars on freedom and peace, on differences in culture, race, gender, _love._ War had become sophisticated, not needing to pop in every time to insight mayhem.   
At the heart of the civil rights movement in America, Aziraphale found most odd that a demon, and an angel- the world’s most oldest known enemies, good versus evil, were more often than not, side by side fighting _against_ war. Archenemies fighting for something in common? He knew Crowley would have argued was it so strange they defend humans, defend the earth they had both grown so fond of? Though they were, if not always, on the same… side of the issue. Whether through the whispers in the ear of a politician or the streets of a riot. Aziraphale often wanted to ask Crowley exactly what he was playing at- after all, wasn’t dissent and evil his job description; wreck havoc upon mankind through any means necessary to boost their numbers in Hell? Wasn’t a demon’s job meant to draw human souls to hell? Meant to tempt mankind towards evil- like these wars?  
Over centuries of companionship, Aziraphale had kept a close watch on Crowley, as he was sure the demon did over him. Yet, every opportunity they had to smite the other, to actually _dissolve_ the other's plans, neither did. It bewildered the angel to no ends; what was a fallen angel, a _demon_ doing being _good?_ Weren’t they evil? The war in Heaven had made them so- that was the word. Crowley was, in Aziraphale’s opinion, a unique… _man_ in all respects. Whilst his wiles were meant to incite, he was never… outright malicious. Not like War- not like other demons and… even other angels.   
Despite knowing Crowley for nearly 6000 years, it still wounded the demon that Aziraphale would come to him with accusations and judgement. Still wounded the tender-hearted demon who’d never admit it. He had to forgive the angel- Heavenly doctrine was beaten in over and over until nothing else remained besides their orders and he knew Aziraphale protected humanity first, and took orders second. Other angels would carry out their orders without question.  
_Without question._ Crowley forgave his friend often for his… quick snipes about being holier than thou because, somewhere, he knew the angel didn’t actually believe that. _Couldn’t_ . Not after nearly 6000 years of friendship and shenanigans they had found themselves in. The angel might never admit that they shared more in common together, than their respective coworkers or even the agency itself, and Crowley knew that. Knew probably better than anyone how hard it was to break against the chains to forge your own path, even if that path leaves you alone in the world.  
It still ailed him to hear the words slip from Aziraphale’s mouth though, raw pain shot through Crowley’s center at the accusation that came so lightly from those soft lips- _Were you responsible for that good young man’s assassination?_ It tore right through Crowley and the rage he released outwards against the angel would be forgiven later- as it always was. “If I did I wouldn’t have made it an assassination!” He hisses through his teeth, pushing the angel against the wall of an alley, anger and anguish lurching somewhere in his gut- maybe it was his chest? Did demons still have hearts? Their souls were gone, weren’t they? Soulless and cast out? Could they… really feel? Was it simulated? “I tried to thwart it!” he says against his lips- their noses touching as they exhaled hot breath neither truly needed. It took a moment to register the shove, how they ended up being position, how _devious_ it might seem to onlookers when they hear the sound of footsteps- human. Several. The smell of blood on their knuckles, sadism in their souls.  
“You two uh, come here often?” it was not superb fete to see they were surrounded, and they expected it after such a comment _and_ for how they were dressed and _where._ After all, two men caught daringly close, little space between either of them- and in the _love, peace and freedom_ generation- they were _obviously_ gay.   
“No, not really, just in for a little tempting, you?” Crowley leans back, echoing past times between angel and demon when they’d meet. His hands released Aziraphale’s shirt, unruffling the collar, smoothing the shirt down as he eyed the angel- dread in his movements, worry. As he withdraws from Aziraphale, his vest slides down lithe shoulders, falling past the pale edges and down his arms before he shuffles it back on properly. His eyes slink over to Azirphale who re-fixes up his loose tartan shirt, the large psychedelic _peace_ symbols hanging about his neck on hemp rope blaringly bright now, in the dark alley. “Trust me, there’s enough to go ‘round.” Crowley insists, turning to see each of the men, eyes evaluating their souls- oh, they were up for grabs with their vile ways-- “Seems to me you _are_ here for a little more than just temptation. Satisfaction, is it? Roughing up the foreigners.”  
“Crowley, you’re just antagonzing them,” Aziraphale utters to Crowley, not quite a hiss but certainly not a just a quieted mumble. The Angel steps forward in an attempt to persuade one of the brutes, proudly striding towards his assailant with a flower crown woven by a young woman tucked neatly into his platinum curls. He thinks they complimented his skin rather well, though from the way Crowley looked at him, he wasn’t so sure it matched his usual, uh, _style_ of choice. Despite that, Aziraphale had confidence this conflict could be resolved peacefully-- after all, hadn’t said demon and angel just come _back_ from a peace rally?   
The man before him did not flinch, but his grin grew wide and sadistic- salivating with the opportunity to _maim._ The angel could feel it radiating off the man, all of them, and so he pressed outwards his virtue and light. The demon winced a bit at the sheer _radiance_ the angel was putting out, rolling his eyes with a flick of his tongue over teeth. _This coulda been resolved by now, a flick of a wrist and bam, adios._   
Crowley, despite his best efforts was impressed by the sheer force behind the angel’s power, the five men, despite the rank smell and thrumming energy was calmed and maybe- just _maybe-_ had Aziraphale handled the entire situation it would have concluded with the men changing their opinions. The first assailant was a greaser-like punk, leather jacket, slick hair, clean shaven- coulda been a charmer. He strode right up to Aziraphale but stopped just short of being _too_ close for Crowley’s liking. “We were just having a healthy argument that was interrupted. If you’ll just excuse us-” He attempted to press forward but a heavy dirty hand held Aziraphale’s chest, before pushing him back with a snicker.  
“I don’t think so, pansy,” he sneered and the others followed suit, closing the distance around them.  
“Well that was uncalled for,” Aziraphale mutters a bit resigned and disappointed.  
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I hit a sore spot? Or did your friend over there with that flaming queer hair,” the others laughed and Crowley narrowed his eyes but Aziraphale waved his hand at his friend to cease but the thug took it as an offensive, yanking the angel by the collar of his shirt. “You think all that flower power is gonna save ya now?” but suddenly- the thug began to choke and dropped Aziraphale back to the ground. The angel whipped around to Crowley whose face was sinister and snarling-  
“If anyone is going to roughhouse an angel, leave it to the professssionalss,” he snarls out behind his teeth and another man rushed forward with a knife but Aziraphale snaps his fingers, so when the thug stumbles forward, he’s defenseless as Crowley simples moves out of the way. “I’ve had enough of this, angel-” Crowley shoves the first man out of his space and then with the snaps of his fingers the men disappear. Aziraphale straightens his shirt and necklaces, glancing back to the demon- he- feels something then he hasn’t felt before. Or maybe, he’s just never been _paying attention_ to it. There… is a kindness, a _love_ that’s radiating off Crowley, despite the sharpness of his glare when he looks to Aziraphale, despite how it makes the angel jump and swallow thickly.   
“I do wish you didn’t just apparate them like that,” he clears his throat and Crowley’s face scrunches in disgust.   
“What I did was a damned blessing,” he points angrily to the angel, thumping his finger on his chest- “Had you not been here, it would have been a far worse fate, so, you’re welcome for sparing them a more appropriate punishment. Disssgusting.” His teeth drag on his tongue as he oftens does after they sober up- like trying to remove the flavor embedded in your senses permanently. “I don’t even know how you can tolerate their stench.” Crowley paces back and forth, working his anger off. It was then that Aziraphale caught the alabaster skin dusted with dark red curls- it wasn’t a _new_ sight, nor anything he hadn’t been treated to seeing before, but- something about the way Crowley paced, how the vest flapped under his arms- maybe it was the heavy silver chains that beat upon his skin. His eyes looked over the demon with something he would later compare to with desire or lust.   
For Crowley had a fashion sense that matched the humans, and could blend in with little aide or prompting from the tele or advertisements- Aziraphale had found his most cherished and favorite clothes and kept them perfect as he could. It was such a remarkable exposure to Crowley’s frame, his gate, how his hips led him and not his shoulders, the arch of his back that when he noticed Crowley was stationary, his cheeks darkened under scrutiny from serpentine eyes. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said, Angel?” Beads and bracelets hung on long arms, mostly tye-dyed colors, but a few black and red speckled his garb and Aziraphale bowed his head guiltily when Crowley groaned and waved his hands at him, frustrated.  
“I’m sorry, what was it you were saying?” And he felt truly guilty. The soured look upon his friend turned somber, the purse in his lips loosened to pout that bottom lip out. Brows, usually angled high in anger were curled downwards in sorrow. “Crowley. I was just…”  
“Jussssst what, Angel? Wondering why I sssaved usss? Those are my kind, aren’t they? Vile and demeaning humans sent to spread their-” _evil._ He couldn’t bring himself to say it and instead waves his hands in the air. He wasn’t really sure why he hadn’t marked their souls of damnation either, to be honest, something to think about in the quiet of his home. He continued his strut to and fro, hands stuffed in his pants pockets and then stopped in defeat, head low. Resigned. “I didn’t kill them, angel, just sent them away. Gave them horrific nightmares, maybe they’ll change. Unlikely as it is- I think I prefer England’s mess of things to this country.”  
“Should we return home then?” Their eyes lock and Aziraphale isn’t sure _how_ he knows he’s looking into his serpentine eyes, just _knows_ he is; staring right into his soul, it seemed.  
“ ‘We’?” Crowley scoffs but when he doesn’t hear Aziraphale correct him, he nods slowly. “Probably for the best. Hell’s wrath won’t be easy to stave after this, but I can twist this into my favor.”  
“What?”  
“For messing up, angel,” Crowley says slowly and quietly between them. “The plan was… well. I suppose what you’ve said is true, after all.” The angel turned his head empathetically, eyes worried and growing glossy with concern. “Evil sows its own seeds of destruction, or some such nonsense.” It’s one of the few times Crowley let’s anyone see within- or rather _let’s one specific person- an angel, at that-_ to see the cracks of his demonic facade. Aziraphale had listened quite closely to Crowley’s desperate want of holy water- he knew the demon was up to something after his astonished remark about holy water being in the church, _no guards and unprotected._   
“Crowley,” he starts but the demon waves him off with a jerk his head and a sound somewhere between a groan and _nah_ . The angel patiently waits then, thumbing through his vast word count, but can find none to overturn the demon’s gesture to stop speaking.  
“It’ll be fine, always is, always works out in the end,” Crowley saunters back towards Aziraphale, fully prepared to feign anything transpired until he see’s those trembling storm-colored eyes. He swallows thickly, almost choking but managing to mask the noise. “Kennedy was intended to die, angel, just not quite like that.”  
“And you?”  
“Changed his fate,” spit flung from his lips and teeth ground together compulsively, brows knitted in the center of forehead. “Like you said, we create our own problems. Anyways-” He waves at the angel, who, if his wings had been bared, would have fluttered with the gesture, startled. Instead, Aziraphale merely leaned back to allow the flicking of Crowley’s hands before him. The demon reached between them and laid his hand to rest upon a shoulder, sparsely covered by the long sleeve tartan shirt- billowed sleeves and all- he looked more like a renaissance performer than a hippy, but that was his _fashion_ standards. If the demon squeezes a bit too fiercely, or a bit too harshly, the angel says nothing but watches his friend with a weighted heart. Here, he had accused Crowley of _sentencing_ Kennedy to death, and maybe, just _maybe_ he had intervened to save him.   
It’s a momentary lift before Aziraphale is back on his feet in his bookshop. The cool touch of long fingers upon his shoulder gone and though he’s hopeful the demon is around, Aziraphale can see he is alone in the bookshop again.  
“Please be safe, Crowley.” He says to himself with the sincerest hope the demon can hear his prayer for safety. He might not always agree, nor concede always willingly, the angel cares a great deal for his- friend- and would rather see him safe and alive. His eyes gloss over in memory as he collects himself, standing there alone; if Crowley was worried for his safety, then perhaps, bending the rules hadn't been such a crime. After all, it wasn’t _lying_ exactly- he _could_ one time, _need_ to use Holy Water, and Head Office had been most pleased with his recent work. Perhaps all was fine. Perhaps all Crowley truly did need it for was as he claimed, for... insurance. If the agents of Hell ever found out about _any_ of Crowley's... lollygagging, the demon might just have need for a powerful tool such as Holy Water. Aziraphale brought his hands together, squeezing them tightly until his knuckles began to whiten, for one of the first real times, the angel experienced fear. Fear that War would claim more than just human lives in her time here on Earth. And an Earth without the demon… just wouldn’t be an earth the angel wanted to live on anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaaaah, I thought it was real cute if they looked very much the standard and overused stereotype of American hippies, like wouldn't Aziraphale be adorable in flower crowns and peace signs? Are we enjoying it, should I continue to post more? Is it absolute garbage and you wanna die, well just, maybe say its like a cleaned up trashpile, but still trash XD


	4. To Smite With Disease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pestilence. By far the nastiest Rider they've dealt with. But what Crowley see's is more than just illness; it's a plague upon his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Pestilence will probably be a longish set of chapters, cause I gotta wheedle in Pollution somewhere (although I have them mentioned in many different parts of the story) I don't wanna leave out such a wonderful concept.
> 
> Also, some of it is based on history; not all of it is accurate- the place, the people's names, mostly accurate, I didn't exactly run around looking up the right names for clothes and garb cause. 
> 
> WELL THEY'RE NOT TAKING THEM OFF SO WE DON'T NEED TO KNOW (cause that's the important part). One can imagine, Aziraphale looks accurate to the times, in his usual beige/cream/offwhite stuff and Crowley just looks like... extra. Crowley looks extra. The little tumblr post by.... I've forgotten, who pointed out that Crowley doesn't match in Rome's current year with his outfit, I took as a headcanon that he never quite matches the era, usually a few steps *ahead* of the age with new trends, and that he wears both women's and men's clothes cause he looks good in (and out of) them. ANYWAY. ONWARDS.

Pestilence was both the demon’s and angel’s most _disliked_ of the four horsemen, a nasty, filthy fellow whom came when mankind began to settle and whom had taken devious joy in reveling in the ignorance of those that did not and would not _bathe._ It wasn’t just one place that it sprouted, as it came in waves, and like the tides of the ocean it was ever changing. Quicker than War, Pestilence spread in Europe as many different diseases with many different names. It ravished the Americas when European settlers brought their disease to cultures that had not the immunity built. It ravished Europe with travel being expedited by boats and their helpful stowaways; rats. It brought devastation to the strongest empires and the largest countries without warning, without mercy. Differences in way of life, in hygiene, in immunity helped the spread of illnesses, so did vermin; Pestilence was far craftier than War had ever been.  
He could weave disease like thread and it only took one pull of the thread to spread it like wildfire. The setting; 11th century, what would be called now as Present Day England somewhere by one of the many _many_ churches. Together, angel and demon stood side by side, and though it was coincidental, their hearts were weighed down with the densest and darkest of sorrows. Their eyes trailed over a colony, no a “hospital” of lepers- shunned, tucked away and hidden from view, most were. _God’s work_ _they’re doing_ someone mumbled as they passed by. Crowley and Aziraphale eyed one another in distaste for the poor choice of words. They had come to know this disease well, a gift of Pestilence that found its way slowly spreading through Europe. Although slower afflicting its victims, it tore people apart, tore them away from God Herself with silly superstition.  
Here in this hospital were the men, women and children whom caught leprosy. Their skin disfigured their bodies and faces, souls that had done no wrong, had no ill-will in them; all were brought away from their homes and cities, cursed with vile words and the _wrath of God.  
_“You know, I’m beginning to wonder what God’s getting at,” Crowley starts, his brows neatly furrowed together in thought. “I mean, this is the sort of thing we do. Innit?” Aziraphale shifts nervously on his feet, hands folded neatly in front of him; his heart aches and he almost doesn’t have it in him to continue Crowley’s argument.  
“She, She must have a reason-”  
“To condemn Her creations? Creations She favored over ussss?” The hiss in his voice ever prominent when he’s upset and it warms Aziraphale to hear it. Not the upset- but to know the demon _does_ care. In a glass half-empty sort of way. He snorts and watches children play- fully wrapped up to hide the peeling skin and scales upon them. A ball is kicked towards them by accident and Crowley steps forward to stop it- all the children stopping in their tracks to ring their bells.  
Other _humans_ gave _humans_ fucking bells. Crowley kneels down to the ball and picks it up, the children swallow and writhe with fear but Crowley tosses it back to them. “Keep it up, maybe you’ll be an athlete.” He says and the kids giggle to themselves- for a brief moment they can be _children_ again. They play with more vigor and happiness than they had before.   
“I won’t say it to you, then, but I’ll say it aloud, that was kind,” they both remain silent for a time before Crowley turns about, and then his body is frozen stiff--  
Pestilence.  
“Must be nice not to worry for such trifles, Serpent of Eden,” Aziraphale flips about soon after and Crowley steps forward to shield the angel, eyes narrowed and enraged.  
“Those are children you’ve polluted,”  
“Yes, I know, I thought it interesting to play with genetics,” Pestilence smirk, demonic in his own right. “Thought it was mighty clever, don’t you, principality? Toying with forces they cannot contend with. It’ll be centuries before it’s cured. Pity you can’t, miracle it away.” Oh, they could get serious reprimands for that. Serious _consequences_ for battling one of the Horsemen. Like being discorporated and no more wine. Pestilence snickers but Crowley steps up to him-   
“Someone is gonna thwart you and he’s gonna be a kid,” he points to the children playing behind them. “And don’t worry, I’ll be there to see it, we both will.” But Pestilence mimic’s the grin on the demon’s face.  
“Well then, I’ll make a tiny little disease, just for you, Since you’re keeping such a _close_ eye on me. And well.” Pestilence gave a manic shrug, “I hope you can spot it when I’ve cooked it up,” he snickers and departs with a pop, the ground where his feet had stood is growing with mold and rot and they both step back to escape its smell.  
“Hope that doesn’t come to bite me in the ass,” Crowley mutters with a cocked brow before glancing back to Aziraphale.  
“I would rather hope that _Hell_ won’t come to bite you in the, um-”  
“Ass, angel, _asssss_ ,”  
“-in the future,” his cheeks turn a gentle shade of pink, one that matches lips that have been worried down by teeth. Crowley doesn’t know how his attention can shift so quickly from sorrow and pain to heat and arousal- the pink in those cheeks is damning, though. “What do you think he means? Making something for you?”  
“A disease?” Crowley rolls his eyes- “Hell, what do you think it means?” His arms fold over his chest, brows still cocked upon his brow and the angel glances to how high it is then back to the yellow eyes boring holes through his head.   
“Well, just that,” Aziraphale states and Crowley looks unimpressed with his answer. “If he is right and this disease is passed through genetics, I have no idea. What could be worse than something hereditary? You can’t help that.”  
“Mmm, sounds like you ought to ask HR, see what they have to say about that, is that even allowed?”  
“Of course it’s allowed, he’s allowed to break the rules, we’re meant to-”  
“ ‘We’?” Crowley echoes licking his lips with a smirk, wry and bright on his features despite sadness having brought them together.   
“W…” the angel swallows and fiddles with his fingers- “Th-Then I’m supposed to keep the rules in check and you… must make it more difficult for him to break them?” Aziraphale tries and hopes it’s a good enough answer. “Whatever God’s plan happens to be, confounding as it is-”  
“Do not say ‘ineffable’,” scoffs the demon with a groan- “That’s going to get old, real fast. It is already, in fact, I think you need to read some more books, find a better word?”  
“Are you making fun of me again for my love of literature?”  
“Nah,” Crowley says instantly- “Making fun of your _choices_ of literature.” The demon’s shoulder shrug a bit a few times in jest and he bears a cheeky, toothy grin when Aziraphale purses his lips and tries his best narrowed glare. “Could use an update, get some fresh looks on things.”  
“Oh and I ought to consult you?” all the demon did was roll his shoulders again staring off into the middle distance. “Can we truly do nothing for them?”  
“Beyond a minor miracle here or there, no,” Crowley says lowly- “Curing an entire colony of a disease thought to be given by God herself? Pure chaos- it would incite… more death, not less.” Their eyes both slink back to the colony of lepers with sinking hearts. Aziraphale glances to Crowley and listens- quietly. There’s a sorrow? Regret? Pain? that follows the demon, one the angel has wanted to ask about- “They were a heavier burden to bear, so I changed ‘em out. You know, trendsetter that I am.”  
“Pardon?”  
“You were giving me _'that oh he’s such a dear man, why did he Fall'_ look again,” he cast that arched brow towards the Angel but never truly turned to glance at him. “Like I said, the stairway down from Heaven is a lot shorter than the one going up, trust me I’ve tried.” Aziraphale bowed his head and stared guiltily down at the muddy cobblestones that shifted to muddied grass and weeds of the church's property. There was guilt, and shame, and sorrow that all came sprouting out- like a well that had become overfull, or a geyser, bursting water straight into the air. “You’ve been dying to ask that question for a few centuries- haven’t you? You got that pitiful look on your face like you actually pity me.”  
“I do pity you Crowley!” he says flustered and caught, but the look he receives in return is cold and icy glare.  
“Oh, well, some good your pity does,” he hisses and realizes too late, that’s the wrong answer, for Aziraphale huffs at him-  
“I feel for you, Crowley, I do, I pity you because we lost-” the angel tries to finish but something catches in his throat and he waves his hand at him. “I don’t even know why I’ll waste my breath on the likes of you.” He says as menacingly as he can, striding away from Crowley. Had the angel taken a glance back, he’d have seen the shadows of dark wings sagging lowly in defeat.

Leprosy _did_ begin to change opinion though, despite it’s wrath- a certain _King_ paved that way. Well, a certain demon and angel stepped in _to_ pave the way. King Baldwin the IV of Jerusalem was waging war against Saladin- and when a horseman meets another, it almost feels like Hell coming up to give the world a taste of it’s menace.  
“I recall you saying we couldn’t do anything a century ago,” Aziraphale met Crowley as the demon had asked some fortnight ago. “Why are we here?”  
“You ought to ask me that, standing in the Holy Land- does the sand feel hotter?” Crowley shuffles his feet, but it is, indeed just sand- “Oh no, not Holy, just hot. Thought for a minute I’d be burning all day. Now- what did you ask- oh why we’re here- to help these miserable rats.”  
“Now we’re helping rats-”  
_“Mankind,”_ Crowley groans and begins to stalk offward, towards the entrance into a grand city- mired in so much death and power struggles, Crowley can smell the death that lingers, the countless more that will come in the name of a Crusade. For power. For rights to rule. “Look, I…” Crowley stops Aziraphale with a hand on his chest, resting it there to keep the angel from leaving. “I don’t say this a lot, so if it comes out rude, just-”  
“Just what?”  
“Forgive me alright? You lot are best at that,” the demon says with a quick breath that shakes with unease. “I can’t do this by myself. I… I need an angel’s touch.”  
“Why me?”  
“Is Gabriel taking calls? I’ll give him a buzz if he is- why you, because you’re the only one here!” Aziraphale sighs and pulls Crowley off from the main road, sitting him down against a low wall. “Are you going to chastise me now, angel, accuse me of helping this to spread-”  
“You want _my_ help because…?”  
“I… don’t want to mess this up,” choked over and almost drowned out by the clopping of hooves and the chatter of people. “Aziraphale- imagine, imagine if a _King_ of religion held the disease and triumphed where others failed. Imagine that this disease could be treated properly and not shamed and ostracized- imagine if people thought, I dunno, that God humbled them- instead of blaming God for diseases, what if they asked how to right their wrongs?”  
“That-” wasn’t what he was expecting. It _certainly_ wasn’t what he thought would ever come of this conversation nor why Crowley would ask for such a favor. Aziraphale stared down at Crowley- once more he looked slightly out of place, but not wholly strange. He still wore all the black that was highly inappropriate, especially in this heat, but at least the red he wore was brighter, across his chest and over his shoulders, dangling were silver tassels, caught glimmering in the sun. “You must be hot in all of this, aren’t you, my dear?”  
“It’s not compared to home sweet home,” the demon points downward in explanation. Ah, so, bearable then, for the demon. Crowley glanced up behind his glasses- “Are you going to just ignore me? I didn’t call you out here to question my fashion choices, angel-”  
“I know, I know, you want to save a king,”  
“A… a boy,” Crowley murmurs as he stands. “He’s a boy. He’s 13.” He was always fond of children- maybe not, _near_ him or playing, but he had a tender spot for them. Always had. “Look, I have no right to ask you for help out of our Agreement, but… I thought… I thought if I could sell it to you, you would see it could… greatly help.”  
“Help who?” Aziraphale wanted to know-  
“Humanity, you nitwit, who do you think I’m talking about?” Aziraphale just beamed and patted Crowley on the shoulder and began to strut forward.   
“So, where is this boy?”  
“He’ll be in… church at this point,” Crowley glanced at the sun with a wince- “His tutor contacted me- William of Tyre.” the angel knew that name- he’d… maybe procured some books from him once or twice in the last few years for his… collection.  
“Why is an archdeacon talking to _you?”_ Aziraphale tutted as they began to wind their way through the city.  
“I dunno, maybe you ought to ask God why She isn’t answering any prayers,” Crowley brought them to the Church but refused himself entry- “I’ll wait thanks- I burn real easy.” So they waited until both boy and archdeacon stepped out with a few others. William spotted Crowley, though eyeing Aziraphale next to him with a wary eye, he approached him with the young boy in tow, _Baldwin._  
“Ah, Crowley of Tripoli, I expected-”  
“Raymond, of course, I came on his behalf,” he waves nonchalantly to change the course of the conversation. “I brought my colleague here- Aziraphale of Antioch.” The angel glanced over only slightly nervously but did give a bow and a warm smile to the boy. The four walked together, circling behind the cathedral where William was pulled away for a moment and Crowley stopped before Aziraphale with a snap of his fingers. The angel felt time slam to a half around him before glancing to the demon.   
“ ‘Aziraphale of Antioch’?” He echoes with a ruffle.   
“Don’t like it? Thought you might like hailing from the Principality of Antioch, nice touch?” Crowley nods his head happily in delight before quickly shaking it as he watched Aziraphale’s face wrinkle up. “Doesn’t matter. Look, that boy is going to be a king one day of a land being fought over for holy rights.”  
“And you want me to do, what, miracle his disease away- Crowley-” he whispers as if someone can hear, though he knows very well no one is listening. “You know that someone will notice that.”  
“Then- let him live- live the right way, he’s a smart boy, Aziraphale, wiser than most kings who have ever sat their arses on a throne, and better, he can change their minds,” the angel glances over the boy and there is something… divine in him. A light that beams brightly despite an illness that will eventually claim his life. “What other child would look that strong, told every day he’ll never survive.”  
“I don’t know what I can do,” Aziraphale waits for Crowley to undo time and the angel moves to sit with the boy, listening to him tell some story. When it’s time for Baldwin to leave with his tutor William, Aziraphale pulls the young king aside, by an arm that is mostly numb at his side. “Young King, when you sit on that throne, when you ride into battle, when you claim victory for your kingdom, remember you are not less of a man for what ails you, but better. Providence has provided you a challenge, rise up to it dear boy.” And with an easy wave, Aziraphale cast his miracle. Though Crowley never knew what it was, he was thankful to the angel for it. “I am not really sure this is going to change anything.”  
“ _'But I am a worm and no man; the reproach of men and the outcast of the people,'_ " Crowley says tiredly. “Let me take you to dinner? My treat.”  
“You do know how to say the nices--”  
“Ah, ah-”  
“-Best things to say then,” Aziraphale huffs a bit- “But I get to pick.”  
“Fine, if that’s what it must be,” but Crowley did not complain, nor did he chide the angel for enjoying his love of sweets and fine alcohols. And perhaps Aziraphale was feeling more genial than usual, after all, it wasn’t every century that Crowley would ask for help, let alone for the benefit of a good cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we all wiggling in our seats?????????????? Shit's about to get better


	5. In Love and Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even angels feel love, can return that love. Maybe even Aziraphale understands exactly what that means for himself- maybe he understands exactly what Crowley endures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, sorry it took me so long to get around to this, I went back and touched up a few things, fleshed some ideas out, made it better. I hope you all enjoy *w* it feeler-coaster!

It’s now 1348. Much of Europe’s population has been purged off the records, nothing but a stain of what once was remains. The Black Ships had sailed the world and now, their curse had spread across the lands killing without mercy, without thought, without hindrance.  
Killed _without discrimination._   
It swept through Europe and North Africa, slowly progressing its way to places yet unconquered by the modern kings and queens- it was easy to see- well if you had some divine sight, rather- where the next outbreak would be. Where the next ship might sail to next.   
Aziraphale didn’t like to compromise. Let’s rephrase that- he didn’t like to compromise with _human life_ . If a ship of 50 men would sail with the plague to another country and infect thousands, it would be obvious, to stop the ship. Save the greater good. But, without the trade, the town would lose it’s sources of food or clothing- many would die from lack of supplies.  
So which was better? Kill a large number over time, or kill them all at once? His hands wrung together as he stood at the dock watching a trade ship load it’s cargo- he could sense the darkness of the plague in each man, in the rats that infested the ship and docks- if there were millions of cats or snakes, he thought that might help.  
Well, it did, for a time. Lessened the rats, lessened the fleas, but the plague was crafty. It killed the cats, then jumped to livestock- so the cats and dogs that were around the people for protection helped to spread it. It caused the angel no end of grief that he _might_ have had a hand in killing humans. He had received a letter from Gabriel personally telling him if he had any other smart ideas to _run it by head office first before you put into action your miracles._ There was no hiding the tone in Gabriel’s note either- it was as if he’d come down personally to inform the principality _exactly_ what he meant with that… fake pompous smile on his features too.  
Aziraphale spent many days wandering through the town Bordeaux, contemplating the odds of survival, of whom to spare, how to go about it. He wished he had Crowley here to at least- the thought struck him so suddenly that he stopped in the middle of the street, some passersby brushing into him, others giving him a strange look as if _he too_ was contaminated with the Plague. They had recently had a disagreement, one that had left Crowley feeling less than the best in the Angel’s eyes and one that had Aziraphale questioning _how to call him back._  
He decided he couldn’t risk such a thing, and spent the rest of his day in the little hovel he rented pouring over books. One had been a gift from Crowley- the demon was fond of finding rare _dark books_ for the collection Aziraphale was gathering, and though he would not shun a book from his collection, he did wish Crowley didn’t _just_ find the crude and rude ones. He found it best if he read, to have new ideas come to him.  
Head Office didn’t seem too awfully concerned with the plague, still, they sent him to various places where the plague bubbled over to _carry out that miracle_ or _restore the faith._ Something he though a bit unworthy of his time. His eyes slid upwards out the window as he watched mankind slide past him; deathly, sick, defenseless. Where was _God?_  
A few days later Aziraphale was given a letter that a dear friend had contracted the Plague and immediately he went to find him. His family had already deserted him and he groaned when he realized Aziraphale had come. “I wish they hadn’t sent that message.” He claims, wheezing, hot to the touch, the boils on his skin already forming. It made Aziraphale sick, the churning in his stomach could not be contained. “They probably did it just so you’d catch it too. Never did like us…” Oh Aziraphale had a little secret. He never carried out necessarily _seriously_ romantic relationships with humans, but sometimes, there was a bright star among them that glistened and he would dote upon them until they passed on. Stefan was no different. His eyes were a light green, his hair a soft auburn, wavy when he left it unkempt.   
“My dear, I’d have come regardless,” he said and pulled up a chair and sat beside him, taking his hand and though Stefan tried to refuse- “You’re going to have to trust me.” He was explicitly told _not_ to cure anyone- he had done enough of that in Constantinople- and people seemed to have wary suspicions of why certain people were favored, which didn’t settle well, apparently with Head Office. Paperwork ought to have been a sin, Aziraphale thought as he stroked his… _friend’s_ hand.  
“A plague doctor is supposed to come by, but, I know it won’t help,” the man said wearily. “I see you brought a book with you, as always.”  
“Oh this,” Aziraphale blushed- one Crowley had brought to him. “I thought, I could sit here and read to you for a while.”  
“That is kind of you, Ezra,” the human smiled up at Aziraphale and listened. The angel put his entire soul into reading the story of adventure and whimsy, hoping just that small miracle to ease his suffering a bit would go unnoticed by Upstairs.  
A knock disturbed them and Aziraphale stood to answer the door- a plague mask startled him and he gasped- “Oh dear, you frightened me. Those are so dreadful to look at it.”  
“Keeps away the stench, mostly,” that voice-  
“Crawle--Crowley?” the man stiffened for a moment but removed the mask, an arched brow was decidedly _higher_ than it ought to have been. “What in Heaven’s name-” he covered his mouth and looked about, lowering his voice- “What on _Earth_ are you doing here?”  
“I’m a plague doctor, here to tell em a leech might work and then be off, what are you doing here?” But Aziraphale gasped- eyes widening before they glossed with tears as he turned back to the sleeping man. Crowley looked over the man, young, athletic, probably had a family, but there was a strange scent in the air- not just the Plague or the usual disgusting medieval smell that followed them all through the 13th and 14th centuries. Something soft, and gentle. It smelled like fresh water and mountain air- evergreens and freshly cut grass. It smelled like the angel. Golden eyes slid over to Aziraphale who’s eyes had not left the man, eyes that shimmered with unshed tears and hands that worried themselves together. Oh. _Oh._ “What’s his name?” Crowley asked instead, his voice gentle and low as to not disturb the tender moments he must have interrupted. He came into the house and shut the door behind him, settling beside the angel’s side as he always did, as they always had.  
“Stefan,” the Angel’s voice choked a bit, half turning towards Crowley but unable to raise his eyes, averting his gaze soon after in shame and pain. After all, Crowley probably thought this was all hilarious and some practical joke. The demon would think his affections were innocent and evanesce. Why would the demon think of love? He wiped at his eyes, swallowing down the tears and ducked his head- “He um…” but Crowley moved forward slowly. His gait was easy, his strut lessened, the way he hung his shoulders and head were different than his usual posture Aziraphale had noted. Crowley looked over the ill man, he glowed, where a touch of an angel had been, on his cheek, his hands, he radiated the love the angel has bestowed on him. His smell lingered too- years had probably been spent together in secret, little frivolous miracles used to keep such a scandalous relationship quiet and under the noses of those who would do them harm.   
“Oh, doctor,” Stefan gasped upwards, eyes bleary as he peered up at the red-headed demon. Crowley took the chair at the bedside and scooted it forward to inspect the man. “Ezra, are you still here.”  
“Your man is here,” Crowley murmurs and Stefan glances back at first with wide and fearful eyes but the demon simply smiles. Weakly. Unrequited. Stefan glanced to the demon then back over his shoulder to the white glow he knew to be Ezra then back. “This might hurt a bit.” He leaned forward and felt along his neck for a moment before he siphoned the plague right from him. He tossed what looked like a black slug to the ground as it seemed to hiss in agony before it burned to a crisp and vanished, leaving only the smallest of stains upon the floor. Stefan groaned at the pain but when Crowley stood, he noticed it was gone- the pain, the fever seemed to fade in moments. “Thank you for that. Whatever it was. I feel… much clearer.” The man peers up to Crowley then with grateful eyes, swimming with appreciation. “You seem almost angelic, doctor.”  
“Heh, not at all, but,” serpentine eyes slid back to Aziraphale at the door who wobbled in place at what the Demon had just done. “You do have one watching over you, certainly.” He snapped his fingers as he turned and Stefan fell into a sleep, one that could be easily woken by the Angel as he returned to him. There the demon moved back to Aziraphale’s side. “Hope you aren’t getting to attached to that one.” Crowley glanced back to the sleeping man with a dislike on his tongue. He had felt where the man’s heart lie- with his wife and children and not with the angel. When he would recover, he would leave, he knew it. He… hoped, however, that he was wrong, and that the angel could have a morsel of kindness returned.  
“Oh, no, he’s-” But Aziraphale couldn’t muster the words. “I like him Crowley, I know he’ll… go after his family, I am sure. I just…” he did feel something for him. He couldn’t explain it.   
“Just…” Crowley licked his lips in thought and glanced back to the angel then. “Protect that soft heart of yours. I wouldn’t want to have to actually _do_ my job and condemn him.”  
“Crowley,” there was the spark of laughter in his voice, but just like the snap of a finger, it was gone. “Crowley- I- I’m speechless I-” those tears he’d been holding back finally fell down his cheeks. The angel did his best to hide his face from the demon who _must_ have been smirking, what other reason would he come here for besides to gloat; to remind him that humans were just as cruel as they ever were. He could not speak his gratitude for once; once, he was choked to silence.  
Yet… a single cool finger came under his chin and lifted his head up to meet Crowley’s gaze. Unmasked and uncovered, serpentine eyes stared into his own. Unreadable as Crowley often kept them, there was a heartache in them, a warmth that Aziraphale found comfort in. Crowley understood. The demon drew his finger back only to wipe at the tears that had slipped down his cheeks which only caused more to fall. More that Crowley wiped away with a patience he didn’t know the demon to possess. “C-Crowley…”  
“Maybe it’s for the best your speechless, no one will know if you can’t answer, right?” He chuckles to protect the perfect facade he has up at all times, laughs to shrug off the darkness that constantly dogs them wherever they go. “He’ll be weak for several more days and the symptoms will remain, but eventually he’ll get better.” Crowley starts to push past Aziraphale when the Angel grabs him by the hand- keeps him in place long enough to squeeze his hand. “You’re off miracles, aren’t you? Can’t exactly have you being shipped off to Hea-ve-- Upstairs for paperwork duty all day. What would I do all day long for fun?” Crowley returns the plague mask to his face and leaves.  
Just like that, Crowley left the house and left Aziraphale with more burning questions than he had time to answer- or even think upon. Aziraphale was constantly surprised by the compassion Crowley exhibited. He came as a doctor, unbidden, and helped the angel without so much as being asked. He had miracled away death from someone dear to the angel without thought to himself or to the consequences.  
All for what? It wasn’t certainly any evil did he performed- would Stefan grow up old to become some dictator? Did Stefan have some grand plan behind his kind green eyes that Crowley could sense? Aziraphale sat beside his friend for hours until the man finally woke and smiled.   
“I am so sorry, my friend, I must have fallen asleep on you,” he stretches a bit and though he coughs quite seriously and needs a few glasses of water to quench his dried throat, Aziraphale has no doubt that his friend will recover. “I hope you did not sit there the entire time.”  
“Oh, I uh-”  
“That doctor, he seemed a nice fellow,” Stefan said with closed eyes. “I felt like he… he was different than the other Plague Doctors I’ve seen.”  
“Oh, he’s, one in a million, I suppose one could say,” Aziraphale plays off and Stefan nods, humming. “Rest now, I’ll start something to eat.”   
And whilst the Plague raged through Europe for several more years, Aziraphale was happy to spend them in the company of Stefan, who later moved to find his family. He claimed he wanted to at least know they were safe, but would return soon. It was a shame that Aziraphale was being called back to London.  
It was much worse to read that Stefan, on his journey to his family had been thought to have the Plague and was killed and burned with his family some months after he left. Crowley had come to visit with a particular fancy bottle of wine in tow, a whole crate in fact. Aziraphale was leaning over his desk when the demon slipped inside, called his name to let him know he was around. The soft chime to _come in, my dear, come in_ held a sadness Crowley could not ignore. Gingerly he set the crate to a desk and came around the corner to find Aziraphale, glaring down at a book on the neatly organized desk. “Angel?” He came behind him and spotted the book- remembered it was one that Aziraphale had brought to read to his… _lover._   
Oh, the demon knew what turmoil and ache the angel must have been filled with; what grief lingered in his eyes and memories. He raised his hand to rest it upon his shoulder and only hesitated a moment longer before squeezing the angel’s shoulder, assuredly, _sweetly._ At first, Crowley thought the angel was going to withdraw from him, shrug off the gesture, but Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, glanced to the hand holding him softly before staring back down to the book. The angel grabs Crowley’s hand tightly, almost painfully squishing knuckles together overcome with sorrow; but it’s the one small comfort Aziraphale has. The one thing that remained constant in his life he could always depend on, look forward too, _enjoy_ . Crowley made it more than bearable, he made it _worth_ living it.   
“It’s, unfair, Crowley. Some of these people would have had decent lives. Were gentle spirits,” his voice breaks into a whimper, and Crowley knows he wants to pull his hand away to cover his mouth in shame, but he doesn’t. Instead he bites his bottom lip with a sob that wracks his shoulders.  
“No war has winners, Aziraphale,” he takes a step closer, closer still until he’s practically pressed in at his side- “We’re all just losers.” His thumb strokes through the thick fabric of the angel’s coat, trying his damnedest to radiate warmth and love and all that _angelic_ shit Aziraphale is so good at. He’s not sure if it’s working, but Crowley likes to think it is- likes to think that when Aziraphale smiles it’s because of what he’s done. “The point is that _we_ don’t give up on them, isn’t it? We’re here for them. Best to keep that in mind, I’m supposed to be the morbid one, ‘member?” The tease in his voice brings a wider smile to Aziraphale, bright as it always is when comforted. It yanks and pulls and blows a hole right through Crowley’s chest, makes his knees weak, his chest clenches.  
“Th-” he starts with his usual gratitude, but knowing how the demon prickles under the words, he stops, and instead just beams up at him. “I am grateful for the small deeds of a certain someone. And although they… lack proper manners sometimes and are far more mischievous than some should be, his not-always-bad deeds can always cheer me up.” Aziraphale finally turns about, taking the hand from his shoulder and holding it in both now, thumbs stroking the tops of his knuckles unconsciously. The angel just stared at the demon and though he was sure in reality it was no more than a few heartbeats, it felt like a millennia. Warmth spread from the bottom of his feet and geysered up to his head in… what was that-- _love._ Love, not of people, or from people, but from a certain flame-haired demon, who had yet to withdraw his hand from Aziraphale’s. _Realizing_ he was staring dreamily at Crowley and holding his hand, he released it with a few coughs to clear his throat. “Oh, my dear, I am sorry, I hadn’t- I didn’t realize I was- I know you’re not overfond of-” but they all seemed like weak excuses. Hadn’t the demon let it happen?  
“If I didn’t want it, you’d have known it,” Crowley smirks as if knowingly, though what exactly the devious serpent knows Aziraphale can’t take a guess. The demon turns about, exiting the office before returning with a bottle of wine- “May I interest you in a nightcap?” He wiggles it and those big eyes widen in delight- truly, sparkle like the night sky.  
“Well, I guess if it’s a gift and not from _my_ reserve?” Aziraphale tuts with glee in his steps as he circles around to fetch them glasses. Of course the reserve at Aziraphale’s disposal was a jointly owned wetbar, filled with wines and drinks over the ages, some of the best they had ever shared usually- some they got on separate adventures and brought to share. The _last time_ Crowley had tempted him to a nightcap, he just strode to the reserve and pulled out a bottle; such poor manners of a guest, but the thought made him smile. There was no end to the memories they had and though his heart still thumped painfully at the thought of Stefan leaving, of his passing, there were many more _happier_ memories to occupy his mind with.  
As they settled in their respective seats across from one another, sharing the new wine, exchanging stories, Aziraphale took a moment to look over Crowley. He’d removed his sunglasses, undid the tight curls in his hair; and wavy and loose, tucked neatly behind him did look rather stunning. “Crowley, I meant what I said, earlier. About the, er-” serpentine eyes slipped over to Aziraphale, calm, understanding, somber.  
“I know, angel,” he offers first and takes a long gulp of the wine with a smack of his lips afters. “Let’s just say, you’re not the only to have… well, _fallen._ ” He’s worried the angel would take the word in the _Actually Fell From Heaven_ way, but he hopes he won’t- hopes he understands him too. “It’s not a pleasant feeling, I don’t chalk it up to my top ten things to do on Earth, certainly.” This makes Aziraphale snicker into his glasses, makes the crinkles at his eyes deepen with glee- there. _That’s_ the Aziraphale he came for. “I am surprised at you though, you’re not usually so smitten with mankind on a personal basis like that. When was the last time that happened?” Easy conversation. Whatever they spoke about always seemed to come out easily, without doubt or anticipation, always relaxing.  
“M-Mary-”  
“Oh- yeah- oh no, like Mary the wife of-”  
“Yes, one in the same, how could you have forgotten?” Aziraphale ruffled under his friend’s apparent memory loss and Crowley stared deeply into his empty glass before the angel leaned over to refill it. Crowley gave a lazy shrug, slouching back into his chair with a pout on his lips, light as it was, just his bottom lip stuck out a fraction.  
“Unlike you to go after big names, that’s usually me,” and he had- been with history’s more famous people, publicly or not. Aziraphale hummed only slightly disappointed in his friend. He refills his glass and scoots out of his chair closer to Crowley. Their knees brush and the demon sits up, piqued.  
“To tomorrow,” the angel says with a smile so radiant Crowley feels like he’s squinting at him.  
“Tomorrow,” the clink of glasses echoes the small shop. Eventually, Aziraphale dislikes sitting up and leaning forward to pour them wine, so he takes to sitting beside Crowley on the couch- maybe it’s just an excuse to _be near_ someone corporeal. Maybe it’s the way the demon laughs at his jokes and stories, the come hither looks he sends to the angel so far away from him. Either way, Crowley is warm at his side and always as energetic as he gets when drunk and his company is more than Aziraphale could ever ask for. If their fingers linger too long when brushing against the other, or holding each others glasses straight, if their knees bump and remain or if legs tangle together over the edge of the couch, neither separate. Here, like this, hidden from the darkness and cruelty of the world they can revel in the world _they_ created between one another; their one little safe spot from sad and lonely nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;3 did we all enjoy that? Squeal a bit? Whine a bit? Hope so, if you didn't, I'm not doing my job. Forewarned for yalls- the following chapters will get a bit more intimate, what that means, you'll just have to read on!


	6. Infection: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's panic in his mind, stricken in a fear and disgust from himself. Not for the first time, Crowley wonders if his punishment for asking questions really was justified. Why did a curious nature lead him to causing death wherever he walked, taint whatever he touched. Only Heaven can forgive him, and the only piece he has of it lies in the angel turned (old and dusty) book collector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwing some feels, throwing some lovin'. Enjoy :3

The early 80’s we’re a wild time- for music, for art, for culture and fashion to kick off. Rebels from the 60’s grew up and had kids, and their kids became a generation for change and new ideas. New blood brought new thought to a sometimes stagnant world.   
As time progressed, modern medicine was whispered in the ears of young men and women throughout the centuries by a particularly wily serpent and his dear angelic friend. It wasn’t _their_ idea, no, not at all! To whisper into great scholars, thinkers, mathematicians, scientists, biologists, the small nuances that would change their theories, change the world. Perhaps, even for the better.  
Somewhere when vaccines came to be widespread and hailed as modern magic for mankind, Pestilence greeted Angel and Demon with one last warning; that though modern technology could indeed thwart the Horsemen, _let it be known that though one might fall, something will be remade in its image to suit the time._   
Neither knew exactly what that meant, though they had a feeling. Time would shape what Pestilence represented. If vaccines and treatments cured disease, something as toxic would take its place. “Though, demon, my charming fork-tongued friend, I have one last gift for you. I do hope you enjoy it.” Pestilence had rushed at Crowley but disintegrated before the demon or angel could do anything.  
“He’s- gone?” Aziraphale said- “I don’t feel his energy anywhere. I still feel the others.”  
“Well _I_ am more concerned what he’s planning, or did put into motion,” Crowley stared down at his feet before meeting the Angel’s eyes- “If he’s no longer around, how can he still spread dise- Oh.”  
“Oh?”  
“He must have already done it,” Crowley says. “You know, like, maybe it’s slow going?”  
“Much of the disease and _pestilence_ he caused was hardly slow, I would say, probably faster than War or Famine,” Aziraphale says with distaste on his tongue.   
They never brought it up again until it became relevant some 20 years later- in 1981. And though they did not immediately know it was pestilence, for it took several more years to reach the United Kingdom, and more specifically, England, it was _obvious_ by the 90’s exactly what Pestilence last respite was; something more sinister than just a contagious disease, more cruel than plagues, destructive on a personal level- it thwarted _immunity._  
Men died in droves. Women. _Children._   
Even for someone as observant as Crowley and as clever as Aziraphale could not _begin_ to surmise what was upon them.   
HIV began to spread across the gay community like wildfire- when the headlines began to bash upon them, it tore down the fragile walls of peace they had helped to build in the 60’s and 70’s.|  
Oh no, Crowley did not know what it meant until it was too late; too many years had passed to pause time or back to it, to much time had flown by that no miracle, no matter how large or divine, could have prevented what happened next.|  
Aziraphale is appalled by such news, of course, watching tele as he organizes his bookshop during closing hours. Gay men were a target already, but now, they were forefront of an attack they couldn’t have been aware of- and now were becoming ostracized and ridiculed for their lifestyles. Hadn’t they _just_ sought to establish _some_ measures of equal rights? Was it always going to be for naught, the Angel pondered when the door of bookshop opened- “Oh I am sorry, my dear, we are closed⏤ Crowley. Ah, what a pleasure.” He came down the step stool with a skip in his step but slowed when he saw the demon leaning against the heavy door, forlorn. |  
He looked… tired, although neither truly needed _rest_ like a human, his features sagged, his skin pale, his hands quaked just the slightest. “My boy, what’s the matter?”  
“Tch, didn’t you hear?” Crowley flicks his hand angrily to the tele, the volume blaringly loud as it announces the first case of AIDS has hit America. Others begin to filter in, 3 more men here, 5 over in this city, slowly, and surely, cases build up. A radio somewhere in the back of the bookshop begins to cite off other incidents, diseases plaguing young gay men, spreading to some women and children- rumors of what started the virus- the lifestyle that perpetuates it. There’s so much hate and disgust in some of the reports. And they get louder. Louder and louder in the bookshop until shelves rattle with screams of dead men and women; like the world’s noise is all contained in these walls. It’s deafening, to the point of pain and Aziraphale covers his ears until-  
“Enough!” the silence rings still in the bookshop, only a single book falling from place and both eye it with a glare. “What is this really about, Crowley? I’ve heard the news, it’s on air constantly now, it’s absolutely terrible. Do you think it is truly Pestilence’s last… _gift_ to humanity?” The way he says it, the surly tone, it almost makes the Demon smile- at least they agree that Pestilence was disgusting and cruel.   
“You don’t remember, do you?”  
“If you told me, don’t you think this would go a lot smoother?” Aziraphale tries but Crowley leaps off the door and begins to corner Aziraphale, stalking into his space with anger and discourse- sorrow, unending pouring from the depths of his soul.   
“Really, angel you don’t wanna play a guessing game to figure out my meaning?” his voice breaks over words, pushing at Aziraphale’s chest with accusing fingers- “Nothing in that big head of yours can possibly come up with any ideas, whatsoever?” Each sentence, each word is another jab, another foot in front of the other, guiding Aziraphale throughout the bookshop, Crowley unbridled emotions ejecting, lashing out like an animal caged and afraid. He starts again, a scar he’s carried for more than six millennia that none can heal or soothe rears up in his chest, corners him, and then corners Aziraphale with shape words. “Am I truly that unrepentant and unholy you can’t even give a damn to remember?!” It’s just another three steps before Aziraphale is pressed back and collapses into his couch, a looming Crowley stands above him like some avenging angel. Funny, the angel thinks, _that he reminds me of an avenging angel more than a demon._  
“Tell me, Crowley, I am- I want to help if I am able,” and something in the demon just _shatters_. His everything comes crashing down and he collapses to his knees before Aziraphale. Fiery red waves cover his features as he hangs his head low in shame.   
“What… do humans do, when they want to ask Forgiveness?” Aziraphale can only see Crowley’s hands, open-palmed and quivering in his lap. Can only hear the tremble in his voice and not see the way his lips are chewed to silence them painfully. He can only feel the tidal waves of anguish and despair billowing around him, enclosing him in a shell of perpetual hurt. A wall to keep others out so no more pain can enter. “Answer me Angel!”  
“You first confess what sins you’ve committed- you know how this goes-” Aziraphale pleads quietly, his voice raspy, despondent, and though it sounds like a shout, it’s barely his normal speaking voice. Yet, Crowley remains at his feet, unmoving and Aziraphale gives in. He sits up and rests a hand upon Crowley’s head- “Speak, my dear. What ails you then?”   
“I did it,” Crowley’s voice is bleak and hushed, pointed down and away from the angel. “I’m the one who’s- who’ssss ssspreading this, _this virussss.”_ The hiss chock full of hot air and saliva, he can almost feel the force behind the words. “You remember what Pestilence said, that he had one last gift for me?” Now Crowley tips his head back to meet the angel’s eyes and they’re full- huge serpentine eyes gaze up to the principality, open, forlorn and glossy with tears. They brim with horrors he must recall in nightmares, empty of their usual snark and gleam. “The mark of a true demon, then, ssspreading torment wherever he goes.” The angel patiently sits and listens, accepting and not judging, and Crowley wonders if it is because he is an angel that he can withstand to hear his sin or if it is because of righteous burning. _“ ‘_ _Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.’ ”_ He says so confidently, so assuredly, Aziraphale swears his own heart breaks at the rough way Crowley’s voice stumbles over the verse. What can he say? What could he possibly do? “I gave man this new… plague- I had to have-” his head bows again- “I didn’t mean to Fall.” it’s cracked with tears and hate that’s brewed for thousands of years, for maybe more than Aziraphale knows. It’s broken and raspy, echoing up for the hollow he feels in the center of his chest, some sinister and evil in it’s more pure form; a serpent that’s come to eat the world.  
“ ‘Blessed is the one, who does not walk in step with the wicked, or stand in the way that sinners take, or sit in the company of mockers’,” Crowley’s head shoots up, those serpent eyes round and wide in disbelief. “Whatever reasons that bind you to hell, does it always have to make you a bad person? Can’t you just be, not good?” It’s all Aziraphale can say, oh he has more to preach, more scripture he can quote and forgive all the sins Crowley thinks he’s done in his life, but would it change how he felt?  
Would the demon see it all as nothing? He Fell with the rest of the demons in hell, would it make things worse, to think, he Fell for no reason? Was cast out for a petty crime yet did no evil and still could not be saved or forgiven? Did God even listen to her fallen angels anymore, or were they truly under the binding chains of Satan himself?  
“But… but I must have… given this disease to them, I must have- what if- what if I just killed them all, _all of them_ Aziraphale, what if-”  
“Are you sure you could have given disease to every man, woman and child?”  
“I must-” but Crowley’s given up. If the Angel would not forgive him, then he was sure to be damned. The angel would, after all, know if the demon had spread disease- Heaven would have known, _God_ Her fucking self would have told them, wouldn’t She? “I must have, angel.” His hands tremble in his lap and tears fall (coincidently) into his palms and Aziraphale understands what all this is about. _How_ the demon could think he killed those men and women; how Crowley’s come to the conclusion that Pestilence gave the disease to him (an immortal and immune being) to pass on, the angel isn’t sure he wants to know _how_ . Not really. He _does_ know that Crowley won’t let it go so easily.  
“Dearest, listen,” Aziraphale waved his hand in the air, a gesture to summon up records of the virus. Records that showed the virus in many different countries, unbeknownst to them- they hadn’t even _been_ there when the virus had started. HIV and AIDS weren’t related to the demon’s… promiscuity with the locals he lived around- it came from one of Horsemen- “My dear, it’s not coming from you. It came from the same place it always has- Pestilence just planted it in unique ways. Tried his best to stay relevant. And now he’s retired for Pollution.” Another wave and the information that hung in the air for Crowley to see vanished. “The virus came from decades ago, Crowley. How could you have bore it this entire time, and not had it start somewhere else, hmm? Pollution has already claimed the lives of animals across the globe, forced them into habitats where man overcomes them. It is impossible that you caused _any_ of this-”  
“But-  
“But nothing,” he says frustratedly with a loud exhale from his nose. His hand gently coaxes back into red tresses, combing them back until he can see his face again; he looks young and old. Young in that he cares so much. Aged like he’s seen death far too much. “I’ve been following it too and I know, together, we can figure something out, yes? As we always do?” but Crowley had no words, could say nothing and remained blank and stoic.  
“I’ve tempted everyone I’ve ever come ‘round, angel,” he murmurs then, after moments of dread silence. “Every person I know has never been able to resist- they always fall for my ploy. Even you.” His eyes raise up to Aziraphale, and once the angel would have said his eyes had given him a start, but now? They were gorgeous- something strange and wondrous and not at all evil. “I’ve tainted you too. How long will it be before you see that?” His voice is hollow as if he’s not really talking to Aziraphale anymore, as if he’s not even around anyone.  
“I beg pardon, I do think minor… invitations to lunch and tea are hardly worth queuing up in your laundry list of _bad deeds,”_ Aziraphale puts _bad deeds_ in quotes because he doesn’t really think that the demon has committed a truthfully _bad deed_ before. Decidedly _not good ones_ . “What will convince you, hmm?” he strokes the unbelievably soft red hair, long now, a bit longer than he had it in the 60’s and 70’s, more refined and sleek- professional almost, if he was at all ever professional. Perhaps, Crowley was created to be perfect in everyone’s eyes, to always have something someone wants, if they were wanting. But an angel can’t _want._ C-Can they? Aziraphale did. He experienced want in all its fashions; innocent want for midnight snacks, devious and maybe a touch greedy for his books, romantic want for company, companionship. And… what he wanted most was the man kneeling at his feet, hopeless and lost.  
There’s only one thing that _might_ snap the demon out of his mood. _Love._ Aziraphale tips Crowley’s head up unsuspecting, gazing into full serpentine eyes as he leans forward. His eyes keep themselves locked with Crowley’s until they begin to blur. Aziraphale’s eyes close and kisses lips wet with tears and trembling. It’s chaste, tender, just the pressure of lips against lips. Crowley for _just_ a split second caves before he yanks himself apart, screeching backwards until he hits a shelf of books, knocking a few from their spot-   
“Did yo- You can’t just do things like that angel!” He shouts, standing up and trying to flick the books back up with his fingers but they keep falling. On shaky legs, Crowley stands, bending down to pick the books up with hands that can barely hold the books, haphazardly shoving them into the empty places they fell from. “I just said-” and as Crowley turns, Aziraphale is there, serious but calm- there’s no fear in his face and he’s soft, so tender it physically _hurts_ him. “I just said I tempt everyone- that I- that I make them unclean-” by God, Aziraphale has never seen Crowley actually nervous like this before, never seen the demon fumble over words or stutter, let alone twist his fingers together. “I’ve… killed them. _I have blood on my hands-_ I can’t- not you- _anyone_ but you-” Aziraphale doesn’t shrug off the admission, but he’s not sure how much more his heart can take hearing this… destroy the demon before him.  
“Crowley, come now, do you truly think you could hurt me?” Not holier, not more powerful, not evil against good. “Could you do something wicked like that? I’ve known you for shy 6000 years now, Crowley, and whilst I might not always agree with you nor you with me, well, I… I think we make a rather decent pair. I don’t always… act like I do, nor say it enough perhaps. But I do. In a… less open way than you.” Aziraphale glanced down to the floorboards with a frown, his own self-doubt bubbling up, stifling his words, his attempts to comfort his… he smiles then- _his friend._ This isn’t about himself, it’s about Crowley, it’s about making sure the demon knows that he might not be an entirely good person, but he _can be_ good. “Can you with full confidence, look me in the eyes and tell me you would do me harm? Intending to do me harm?” Crowley sends his eyes across the store, a glare that could probably set flame if he so willed it. Aziraphale knows he has his answer, but he wants to hear it; he wants to hear Crowley say it, because perhaps if he does, if he hears himself say it, then maybe it will convince him. The only thing Aziraphale receives however is very hushed and petulant _no._ “Then, let me prove it to you?”  
“I just said _no_ angel,” he hisses at him, a pitchy tone breaks through his usual baritone. The angel sighs but takes a small steps into his personal space, and when he rests his hands on the sides of his face, Crowley… _leans_ into the touch. Like a snake finding the warm rock that’s sunned itself all day, like a stray cat being shown affection for the first time. But Crowley withdraws instantly, his face tight and stern-  
“I didn’t- exactly mean that- just-” he frowns at his lack of vocabulary, sniffing about the old bookshop as if it will return to him his words. “Snuggle all you like, that wasn’t quite the _sinning_ I was referring to- to killing huma-”  
“And you didn’t kill them,” Aziraphale says again and though he can tell the demon wants to protest, he chooses not to, whether doubt has filled his mind about himself or he just doesn’t want to continue with the angel, no one knows for sure. “Just, humor me?”  
“You’d have to be funny, for that,”  
“Oh cheeky, Crowley,” Aziraphale says but a smile, _a smirk, really_ , spreads over Crowley’s face. The angel steps back in front of the demon, a hand reaching up for his face, framing it, but not touching. He’ll wait, Crowley thinks, _wait until I say so._ It’s… hard to swallow. That the angel would be so understanding and patient, that he’d go through these hoops _just_ whisper comfort. Crowley concedes and gives a nod and his flutter closed in relief. Aziraphale strokes Crowley’s cheek with his thumb, a smile on his face, just, absorbing the tenderness of the moment. “So… do I have your permission?” Crowley nods and squeaks out a pathetic sounding _yes_.   
He’s glad their earthly forms didn’t put them at such a height disadvantage, Aziraphale would _hate_ to have to stood upon his tiptoes _just_ to reach Crowley’s lips. “I know without a doubt, Crowley you would never hurt me. Nor put me in harm’s way. Even if you feared yourself.” And Crowley has something to say about that and opens his mouth to protest but Aziraphale has learned a few things from the demon; one is opportunities only come once in a situation. His tongue surges into Crowley’s mouth, eager to prove everything the demon might need to hear--  
Of course, all of this is a selfless act. No lust, or desire filled any part of it… except for the part where Crowley moans into Aziraphale’s mouth at the invasive tongue or how he melts just the slightest into him. _None of this_ is about _Aziraphale’s_ feelings, only Crowley’s.  
R-Right? Because he’s not sure anymore when he feels Crowley’s arms wrap around his waist, gentle and slow, as if still unsure and uncertain. He’s not sure this is only about Crowley anymore, yet nothing can make him pull apart. For only a second he thinks this is what the demon meant about lust, and corrupting the innocent, giving in to temptation. When he pulls back for air, he thinks he’d tell the red-head to stop, that he was right⏤ but he’s _not._ Whatever want he has…  
It’s his own. He strokes Crowley’s face, and slim features of his face, angular and sharp have always done something to Aziraphale, but now he’s had a few millennia to contemplate _what_ they were doing. Now he knows. Now his heart feels ready to burst when Crowley launches back for another kiss. This time _his tongue_ slides into an inviting mouth, dancing with Aziraphale’s. Crowley knows where to press him- where to push to guide him to the bedroom in the back of the store. His fingers elicit such explicit moans and mewls from the angel, he’s not even sure if it’s the angel’s or his own that ring in his ear like the sweetest music. Crowley presses hard kisses along Aziraphale’s jaw, his hands smoothing down the heavy coat right off his arms to the floor, nipping at his ear to cease the little miracle he was about to perform to hang his coat to the rack. If he had time for that, he wasn’t properly ravished. They finally hit the door of his room and Crowley draws back to see his work- flushed face, eyes glossy with want, lips parted and swollen from bites, a tongue rolls lost in his mouth without it’s partner⏤  
“N-no, this- this is wrong,” Crowley backs from Aziraphale with something akin to horror on his face and without a word, vanishes. Almighty help me, Aziraphale thinks, then quickly scratches that hoping _not_ to have to speak with Her about… _that_ . If it was wrong, why did it feel right? It made Aziraphale wonder if that’s not what Crowley thought, when he told Eve of the Apple of Eden- if it seemed right, felt right, why wasn’t it? Aziraphale touched his lips, felt his heart thrumming, _hammering_ behind ribs and flesh- he could hardly catch the breath they didn’t really need. _Want._ He _wanted_ Crowley; in whatever capacity he was given, and _God_ wasn’t that a crime? He bent down to pick up his coat, moving to hang it up properly and blushed when he remembered how Crowley had nipped him for trying to miracle it to the coat rack. Aziraphale had a few… romantic interests spotted about his time on earth. None had ever felt this captivating or powerful.  
It seemed Crowley held something more powerful than temptation in his repertoire.  
He could _love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is enjoying this as much as I am???


	7. Infection: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Pestilence Retired for an equal adversary- both demon and angel believe, that perhaps, disease will finally even out and they can look to new ways of thwarting Pollution.
> 
> But Pestilence made a promise to the wily Serpent of Eden, a promise that both devastates the demon loses himself in sorrow. And the only one that can pull him out of this dark pit probably shouldn't help; but angels were meant to help and heal, and sorrow of loss calls to home like no other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took a weeee break, costumes and state faire to run around at! I hope people are still reading this? Enjoying it would be even better XD I had fun with it at the very least. Anyway, prepare some tissues, won't say for what XD

It was sparsely a week before Crowley came by again, feigning to be a customer and waiting for the angel to come to him. They hadn’t spoken, and though it was a mere 6 days and some odd hours, it had felt… _longer._ Sometimes they would go _years_ without seeing or hearing from one another. Even decades. Why did a mere week feel like _centuries_ then. “Angel, we gotta talk.”  
“I suppose we do,” he cleared his throat and with a little tut, the customers all began to file out and he flipped the sign to ‘closed’ on his shop door. “I realize we might have a great deal to talk abou⏤”  
“Do you feel normal? Like, nothing, dark, malicious? Nothing that... hurts?”  
“Well, you’re here,” Aziraphale tuts and Crowley rolls his eyes and mock-laughs.  
“Ha ha, what a clever joke,” Crowley stalks to his couch and lounges in it. The angel follows after him with his hands neatly tucked behind his back- days ago, they shared a kiss- right where Crowley lay. “I suppose, maybe, I ought to say thanks.”  
“Whatever fo--”  
“Proving me right, as always,” Crowley says deadpan, eyeing Aziraphale with a bit exasperation in his brows. “That… that it wasn’t me. Who started it, you know. You did something no one else ever would have for me, for a demon and… I have to admire that.”  
“My dear,” Aziraphale sighs and then leaves to his reserve of alcohol- but Crowley is behind him holding a bottle of something very special- at least nine centuries old- “Oh. This is rare stock.”  
“Found it when I- left- for a bit,” he doesn’t say where or when and Aziraphale’s astute enough and recognizes when it's best not to, well, _prod the snake._ “A gift.”  
“You didn’t need to,” he insists, taking the bottle and cradling it to his chest.  
“Eh, wanted too,” Crowley is usually one thing; distinctively indifferent. It’s a defense that Aziraphale watched the demon surround himself with and treasures most when he can peel it away. They were still so close, Aziraphale can feel that Crowley wants to ask something- “When did you learn to kiss like that? Last I had heard you still were a virgin-”  
“My word- rude,” Aziraphale states, marching _straight_ passed Crowley to the kitchenette. “What a damning question that is.”  
“You can at least answer it,” he goads. “I mean, I know where _I learned_ to kiss, sorta came with the job description? You know, sign here, these are your qualifications, have a nice temptation.” Crowley feigns signing his name and then tosses the idea with a flick.   
“Oh, I can imagine where you might have learned that, and more,” Aziraphale adds with a huff, his cheeks gone red, but if Crowley can see, he says nothing of it. _Kind of him_ , he thinks.  
“Mm, indeed, ought to tell you one day, over drinks maybe, don’t wanna make you squirm,” he teases as he’s handed a glass full and the angel gives him the harshest glare he can muster, although it’s weak.   
“I would not squirm, I am not squeamish-”  
“What? What a lie!” Crowley laughs aloud recalling a time where the angel had gotten _sick_ from seeing how a certain food was made.  
“That- that was different-” a visible shudder runs through the angel-  
“Then, stop avoiding the question and answer me,” Crowley hums as he takes a sip of his drink, his golden eyes can be seen over the edge of his sunglasses. Despite that Crowley never _does_ get the full story on how exactly, the principality learned to kiss, he doesn’t believe it would have changed his mind.   
They bask the night away, demon teasing and taunting the angel, goading him into retelling embarrassing stories and more _horizontal_ encounters, but Aziraphale never shies from innocent touches; fingers stroking over knuckles, legs knocking together when they both take a seat on the couch, Crowley’s arm draping over his shoulders as he turns to listen to him. In fact, if anything, the angel seems more inclined to the chaste brushes of skin. Seems to, lean into them, or incite some of his own. “Angel, do you think it’s possible to love someone meant to be like, I dunno, your most hated rival? Like, do opposites really attract?”  
“Mmm I dunno,” he slurs a bit with a little giggle on his throat. “I guess it depends, what it depends on?” He tries to think of an answer but shrugs. “No idea.”  
“Me neither,” for a moment there’s a lapse in conversation- “Do you think aminals-”  
“It’s animals,” Aziraphale chuckles and pats Crowley’s shoulder-  
“Tha’sss what I said angel, aminals-”  
“No, no the letters-” he giggled and Crowley did too, unable to stifle the alcohol fuzzying their minds, making every conversation a little more hilarious than it was- “You’ve ‘em switched-” Aziraphale scoots a bit closer as if saying them slowly and so Crowley can see his lips would matter- “Animals-”  
“Aminals-”  
“No, darling, no- aminals-”  
“See! You jussss’ said it!” Crowley points at him, jostling his wine but miraculously keeping it with in the glass- after all he remembers the one and _only_ time he spilled red wine on Aziraphale’s _anything_ . The poor angel nearly _lost_ his mind! “Animals! They’re so perfect- like why couldn’t we’ve been like- you know, animal keepers.”  
“Like a zoo keeper? My gosh, would they all be in cages-”  
“Wearin’ sssuits and doing business?” They both winced at the idea before laughing- “But angel, really, why couldn’t we’ve bee-” there’s soft lips upon his own suddenly, cutting off his drunken thought, long since changed from his original query (lost in the haze of booze and perhaps to be remembered on a particularly uneventful night). Crowley moans into the kiss and presses into it, the move making Aziraphale whimper somewhere in the back of his throat. It’s a chaste kiss, lips nibbling sweetly against the others until the angel parts, a knowing and quite bashful smile appears, tugging on the corners of his lips like a little secret shared between only them.   
“I learned to kiss somewhere in the 15th century,” it takes a few blinks and a few moments for Crowley to realize he had asked the question and decidedly believed he’d never get an answer.  
“And all anyone had to do was get you piss drunk to admit that?” Crowley pouts as if extremely disappointed in himself for not thinking of ways to get these sinful confessions out of Aziraphale. “Well, don’t stop there-”  
“I’ve-” the blush raged all the way to his ears, and wasn’t at all fueled by drink- this was a blush of embarrassment and, if Crowley knew a thing or two (oh and he _did)_ that was a blush of arousal. “There’s hardly been anything more-”  
“Never wanted to lead the humans on? Have too much of an angelic figure- thought it’d blind them?”  
“They’re such short-lived creatures,” Aziraphale persuades, before pursing his lips at the rest of Crowley’s taunt. “Come now, behave.” He insists but this just earns him an eyebrow arched high onto his forehead gently ridiculing the angel. “Besides, they already have su-such a torturous life ahead. What if I made it worse?”  
“But you could give ‘em love ‘n’ stuff,” this made those soft and sandy brows raise upon his forehead- he’d never thought of giving love to humans as Crowley had. Well, maybe love wasn’t exactly what the demon had given them. Maybe he gave something like desire, and want. Taught humans pleasure and a sort of… love shared between well… shared between lovers. “They’re such suckersss for love and fluff and stuff- God you wouldn’t believe.”  
“What do you get out of it then, master of -”  
“Lust?”  
“ _Allure_ ,” Aziraphale corrected haughitly, straightening just for a moment to show his _pure_ and _kind_ thoughts, devoid of pleasures of the flesh, before relaxing back into the couch. “What does the Serpent of Eden get out of… physical connections with humans?” Aziraphale was many things; one being he was proper and respectable, always tried to make light of the… crass conversation or dangerous topics they would delve into. This was no different, but it definitely kills a mood sometimes, Crowley groaned to himself.   
The angel had readjusted his position and brought one leg up to the couch, matching Crowley’s position, their knees brushing as they did yet… instead of moving out of the way, they only drew closer to one another. Crowley’s long slender leg tucked under him rested upon Aziraphale’s which sprawled more in front of him than beneath him. “If you know so much of the _desired_ it must be boring, isn’t it?” Crowley seemed to consider the question, as much as he could between drinking his wine and having it be refilled almost immediately.  
“I guess I like the ‘connection’,” he stares off at one of the shelves of books before glancing back and… Aziraphale draws off Crowley’s crooked glasses and sets them to the coffee table beside them. He’d never do that sober, lest he lose his hands and have to explain _why_ he couldn’t write any reports for Head Office. Holy _Hell_ that would be a _disastrous_ conversation. “Angel-” he whines a bit at their removal and then he’s captivated. It’s not the first time he’s seen it in Aziraphale’s eyes, just the first time he’s stared into them for so long. He can see _galaxies_ . He swears he can in those storm blue orbs- whole systems of stars just twinkling. He’s only ever see them do that over good food, good booze and… well. Crowley would like to think he causes them, but he’s sure that it’s not the case. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”  
“Like what?”  
“Like _that!”_ He gestures with his free hand over the side of the couch then shrugs, unable to describe it. “It’s all… you know, warm?” His nose scrunches over the words and shrugs his shoulders again before Aziraphale’s nose is touching Crowley’s.  
“Do I still have your permission, Crowley?” It’s said with such a sober mind, eyes focused and true, the blush still staining his cheeks though. _Heavily._   
“Yes? But for what-” the demon finds himself in another kiss, a more forceful kiss, a demanding one. Aziraphale is a slightly clumsy kisser, missing certain chances to bite or lick but Crowley assumes it comes from lack of practice. “Let me show you how a _professional_ does it-”  
“A professional?” Aziraphale teases- “You probably wrote the book on-” but his words are swallowed by a mouth devouring his own. Aziraphale’s fingers course into his hair, waving their glasses out of their hands and to the table- after all, he needs _both hands_ to run into the long red locks; silky, soft, luxurious. A tongue slides over his lips and it elicits the right gasping reaction that has that slightly forked tongue diving into his mouth, dancing in delight. It sends flame through his chest and out to his extremities, _God he’s too good a this_ , is the barely coherent thought Aziraphale can muster. _Don’t bring Her into this._ Comes the snarly reply from Crowley who bites his bottom lip just a tad harder as punishment. _Some punishment._ A tongue soothes it immediately after the angel whines at the bite. Crowley gives one last nip to those teasingly desirable lips before leaning back-  
Though now, their positions are far more… horizontal in intentions and _definitely_ more intimate. “Is it like that always?”  
“What’s like that always?” Crowley’s brow furrows a bit, but his eyes remain inviting and gentle.  
“Just feels a lot more, tight- uh-” Aziraphale tries to muster the word-  
“Well, if it's tight that’s cause something’s a bit _harder_ than usual,” but the joke is lost on Aziraphale who quirks his head. It’s not until his eyes widen and his face pales that the angel gasps- Crowley smirking widely in delight as the angel flounders beneath. “Is it- a bit too- hot for you? Need me to turn it down-”  
“No that’s not- I just-” he sighs frustratedly and closes his eyes to compose himself. “I’ve kissed a few people in my time- but they’ve never felt that. Like the way you… kissed me.”  
“You think it’s cause I’m all devilish and charming?” normally the angel would worry he’s affronted his friend, but Crowley is being serious, despite the alcohol still very much circulating their human bodies.   
“Maybe,” but saying that, Aziraphale knows immediately, that’s not the answer. The little tingly sensation he feels in his lips when they kiss, the jitteriness of his nerves when their fingers brush or shoulders bump isn’t from his demonic aura pulsing with lust. It’s something… far sweeter and he’s not quite sure he has the rationale to understand it nor if he ought to admit it aloud or to himself, either.   
“Well, it’s certainly not why I like kissing _you_ angel,” his grin widens, playfully evil and Aziraphale swallows thickly, suddenly reminded of the that tight and heated sensation in his chest and somewhere in his gut. “Do I have _your_ permission?” He teases but doesn’t dive down until the angel answers… _a sweetheart, isn’t he?  
_“Yes, of course,” Crowley doesn’t go for his lips this time,but buries his face against the crook of his neck, licking a delicate stripe with his tongue up to the angel’s ear. Aziraphale’s fingers still wring tight in Crowley’s hair and he likes how they tighten their grip when he licks the shell of his ear, flicking his earlobe playfully. “It feels right when I kiss you.” It’s but a whisper, husky, low, vulnerable. “That you were right about me.” He attempts to tease his ear again but Aziraphale pulls his head back by his long hair and meet his serpentine eyes.   
“Oh Crowley,” his voice quiet too, sweet, a smile so bittersweet it even makes Crowley wobble a bit above him. “I’m not always right, but I am sure about one thing.” yellow eyes flick over the angel’s features, listening, waiting with bated breath. “That you, despite being a demon, are just _not-so-good_ but _not-so-bad_ either.”   
“Guess I can live with that,” several chaste kisses pepper their lips before the alcohol draws their very human bodies into a sweet slumber upon the couch. Even though they both wake with a start, neither shy away immediately, their embarrassment and reddened cheeks are enough to silence both their teasing of one another. They don’t mention the kisses after, but there grows a longing in Aziraphale he’s not entirely sure was there before- or maybe it had been, buried all this time under uncertainty and rules. He’s not even sure if Crowley feels the same, or if it’s just familiarity that makes him comfortable with the intimacy. Whatever it is, Aziraphale agrees to keep it a secret, but only between himself and Crowley- because sometimes there’s no backing down from the demon when he _wants_. And Aziraphale is more than happy to give in.


	8. Ripen for Death: Prologue-like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter, Famine. Here for dinner and dessert, but only to starve you. When Famine see's a weakness in the angel, he spies a way to twist them apart.
> 
> But, can food really tear two people apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so Pestilence picked on Crowley (since he likes kids, I felt he'd be more attached to the idea of sickness taking children) and Aziraphale was easy cause he enjoys food, enjoys the culinary arts as it; an art form. 
> 
> Let's seeeeeeeeeee how they get on, shall we? :3 hope you guys enjoy it, we're getting closer to that good good smutty stuff, if anyone cares for that- also short-ish chapter cause the others are long? -shrugs-

Now Famine didn’t nearly take as many lives as War, and wasn’t quite as subtle or foul as Pestilence. It wasn’t until the 20th century that Famine realized currently technological advances were just pushing him out of the picture- a food-filled world would come, and even if he could still starve or destroy some, the majority would come to their aide. Far more quickly.  
So, he adapted. Created food that could _kill._ Food that tasted so good, was so addictive, it became a _chain_ . The cheaper the better. The more food chains there were, the more competition there was to sell more, the more food could be eaten and not once would you gain fullness. Oh yes, he capitalized on, well _Capitalism_ ; to make money hand over fist. It wasn’t a hard sell, either. Quick eating soon became a trend- places you could go, grab a bite and make it home before sundown.  
Men hard at work who needed a break from their families, or who were doting and took their families to these chains were targeted. Eventually, everyone was a target- children too. Oh, children became so easy when the 21st century turned about- kids were small, easy to manipulate, their parents? Well. A little coaxing didn’t hurt. Pollution had come up with the idea to make the food toxic to both people _and_ the earth- a little double-dealing for their part, the two put their heads together create _mass_ panic.  
Health officials criticized fast-food, soda’s, foods with sugar, but _they lied._ A little persuasion from Famine, and sugar went under the radar as the number one killer food. Not a strand of deadly potatoes or bad weather to water crops or sick animals. It began to destroy the idea of a healthy diet. Cheap eating could be afforded- people could live off of less with more money in their pockets (although it wasn’t true; the actual money on fastfood in comparison to home cooked meals was far more expensive. But, as some will note, mankind had become lazy; fat on their own greed and simple pleasures like french fries and a burger became norm).  
The first time that they met Famine was in India- having been sort of British residents, their tasks with the East India Trade company had left _a lot_ to be desired. Especially when Aziraphale really watched exactly what the company was doing to its, _trade partners_ .   
“I couldn’t interest you gentlemen in something local?” It was the decapitated head of a chicken, rotted open, maggots oozing from it’s eyes- fruit that had long dried up and mold overtook its form-  
“Oh no thanks, we just ate,” Crowley said with a frown on his features, scraping his tongue across his teeth in disgust. Aziraphale, the poor thing nearly wretched at the sight of the plate. “My friend’s had a lot to eat, I don’t think he could be bothered- it looks,... mmm delicious, did you spice it up at all?” Crowley pulled Aziraphale back a bit, shielding him from the scene.  
“That’s cute of you to defend the angel who loves food,” long, sharp teeth like spikes almost beamed at Crowley and he licked his own teeth, grateful he was given a human form, without all the extra horns and sharp teeth. _Yikes._ “Tis a pity, Angel, I had this brought up from the most rich lands-”  
“I- I do think it’s rotting, so I believe,” Aziraphale cleared his throat, though his eyes watered in disgust- “T-That you might be using the word _rich_ in a different sense than I do.”  
“What gave you that idea, angel, the maggots? Or the rot?” Crowley scoffed and waved Famine away- “Come another day when there’s steak on the menu, maybe a nice red wine if you can muster? We’re real classy fellows.” Crowley snarled again, still putting himself between Angel and Horseman.  
“As you wish, Serpent,” he hisses back through those yellowed spike-teeth, a nasty slithery tongue came to lick at them and Crowley feigned to gag at the sight.   
“Ohh, I think- you got like, some foodstuff- yeah right there- no, no, no otherside- yeah there you go, much better,” Crowley had pointed out rotting food lodge in the Horsemen’s teeth, disgusted wholly when the slithery tongue licked it clean.   
“I’ll be back with a dessert you cannot resist,” to this, Aziraphale met the eyes of the horsemen before he departed in a swarm of flies.  
“Well, what a nice Horseman he seems, much more polite than War ever was,” Crowley scowls down at the parched earth, the dead cattle and goats. He’d walked through the cities to see the starving villagers, to see their bones through skin stretched taut. Children who were barely even there, withered and sickly as they were. He could only miracle so much death and starvation away before it became suspicious. “Angel?” He glanced over and the angel looked sick- as sick as the children. “Are you alright?”  
“That- just- do you think-” and he turns with worry in his eyes but stops himself- _would Crowley even understand?_ His fingers wring together but Crowley covers them and says nothing; he pats his hands and takes a breath.  
“I suppose the East India Trading company is going to lose two of its best employees," the demon says confidently, not missing the way Aziraphale’s eyes light up. He can practically smell the glee dripping off him like sweat under the hot Indian sun. It’s a good smell, the demon concludes- one he wishes he could make happen on a more… personal level, but the angel is far away from such ideas. At least, regarding himself.  
Famine, however, hit many countries in that century, and each time, the respective offices of Hell and Heaven would send forth their emissaries to thwart, tempt, persuade, beseech ways to bring more souls to their side- yet neither ever did. Rather, due to their Agreement that Crowley had finally managed to get Aziraphale admit they _actually_ had, sometimes only _one_ ventured to these places. Head Office was none the wise, congratulated or punished one or the other, but the crimes were hardly worth even mentioning punishment. _No more frivolous miracles_ or _tempting this politician is not a political opinion you get to squirrel out of_ . Threats and strongly-worded notes.  
Yet it all worked out. In the end, it always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I glazed over what I thought famine might do, why not just kill crops and food, the horsemen, riders, seem to be creative and interested in keeping their "job" alive, so to speak, and as times changes, their ways of manipulating their powers must change also. Since Famine created food that had no food, I thought the idea of some places having fast food be capitalized on, that its the start of the "fake food" industry was a good place- getting people to be unhealthy because of food choices. So, if I have offended in some way, it was not my intentions. I hope I have not, sincerely offended anyone reading my story in any context. There's a whole lot more that goes into people eating at fastfood and not living as healthy as they could like gentrification and poverty, discrimination, yes I am aware, it's not solely food-related, however on that note, it is about Famine and not about all of society, government and toxic viewpoints.
> 
> felt like I needed to say it? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it? Someone must XD


	9. All Sorrows are less with Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A harmless trip around the world, for no other reason than personal desire; to make him smile. And a familiar face appears to divide and conquer, but there isn't anything a little bit of food, and a LOT of alcohol can't mend between the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also split this chapter up, cause I apparently was going for something slightly smutty in the latter half of it- which the next chapter, solidly will just be some cute body-exploring and self-image correcting (basically unrelated to what happens in this chapter, really, and builds their relationship up more through touching XD)

Aziraphale had loved food ever since mankind had discovered how to prepare food. Spices, seasonings, flame cooked, baked, dried, crushed- God only knew how many different ways man had learned to create delicious new flavors from the same foods- berry sweets, decadent flavors, fluffy textures- oh he might have enjoyed the sweeter side of the foods made, but he _enjoyed_ food.  
And… his heart fluttered when Crowley caved to his _foodie_ whims. He’d drag him all over the world to try new foods he had heard of or learned about by trying them himself. He would say food was better shared with someone, and Crowley _always_ went along with him. Even if he only nibbled it a bit or swallowed it down like a snake and asked for thirds, the demon never judged.  
Even when Aziraphale let the food _actually_ shape his human body. He never batted an eye- never cared for what Aziraphale looked like, he always thought he had a particular fashion sense (even if it was terrible). There was a certain fondness Crowley had for the angel whom loved eating. He had no right to judge what he let himself look like- though he always thought the angel looked better happy. Looked _best_ happy.  
On the rare occasion that Crowley had discovered a food he thought would spark interest to the angel, he’d bring it to him- neither were ever very hard to find. They didn’t always cross paths, but often, they sought one another out. “You just have to come with me.”  
“I’m sorry- I have a lot to do here though-”  
“It’s about _food,”_ Crowley teases looming over Aziraphale at the bookshop. It’s the early 1990’s- Crowley is all but hanging off of Aziraphale’s shoulder, a couple of onlookers giggle at the sweetness of the gesture. The demon smirked and leaned in a tad closer than was appropriate and the giggles erupted much louder and Aziraphale stumbled a bit.  
“Seriously Crowley, I am working,”  
“Uh huh,” Crowley pouts and leans back, both of them eyeing the gaggle of humans glancing to them in the corner- “We’ve fans.”  
“Because of you,” he tuts at the demon, a light slap of his hand upon his chest, as if he could properly chastise him. “I’ll have you know-”  
“So are you going to come to Japan with me or not? I’ve got tickets and I’m really tired of waiting for yo-”  
“Japan-” Aziraphale blinks wide-eyed and curious. “I’ve had some of their food before-”  
“Yeah but I bet you haven’t eaten a poisonous fish before,” Crowley’s brows raised high in questioning, unsure if he had.  
“Well,” the angel seemed to fuss in his spot, wondering if he should. “No, I haven’t-”  
“Octopus? Had a little eight-legged friend-”  
“Oh alright,” Crowley grinned and snapped his fingers launching the store fast-forward to closing time and shooing the crowds out. “Was that truly necessary? You’re always so dramatic.”  
“Says the englishman dressed like he’s still in the 1900’s,”   
“We _are_ -”  
“It’s 1991, Aziraphale,” the demon retorts matter of factly- “Your clothes are-” he waves and silences himself. “Doesn’t matter, I’ve been planning this for weeks.” Aziraphale insists that Crowley doesn’t drive to the airport, and lamenting, they reach the airport with little issue (but slow as all _hell).  
_Sushi became a favorite of Aziraphale immediately- they certainly expanded their flavors and culinary arts since he last visited. They’re at a small ramen stall, Crowley watching Aziraphale eat his bowl of noodles- captivated. There’s something that’s been growing in his mind, a worry, a doubt, a great concern. He’s pretty sure demons are, of course, tainted evil spirits with nothing but wickedness in their hearts and temptations on their lips, lies in their songs, and deceit in their eyes. But around Aziraphale? That doesn’t feel like the case. It’s something he’s been contemplating for the last- oh- few thousand years.  
At first, what they had was indeed a tentative relationship based on divine association. Then, after Eden, it blossomed, into new acquaintances to a friendship that’s spanned 6000 years. He knows Aziraphale would side with him, if the chance ever arose- knew it without a doubt, wouldn’t he? After all the dangers and adventures they had shared, the angel would of course, take the side of his friend? Should something come?  
He was more than forgiving with the Angel, who, whilst could admit they were friends to a degree, did care, with that big righteous heart. Aziraphale might not have been able to admit it, but there was enough of his gestures and actions to say otherwise. After Aziraphale had given Crowley the holy water, the soft acknowledgement of Crowley _going to fast for him_ was a metaphor for so much more.  
_I care but I’m not ready, and I don’t know if you’ll wait.  
__Yes, we’ve had 6000 years, but I’m terrified of what will happen.  
__I’m afraid of what my side might do.  
__Crowley playing too wild with lovers and partners, what if you got bored?  
_Oh the demon knew all of them with just a single metaphor. His heart ached- for them all. Most were valid, some stung, others outright wanted to just _pin_ that deceptively devious angel down and tell him everything. And even if nothing ever came to fruition, if this is what Crowley could do for the rest of eternity, then this would be all he needed- him beside the angel.  
“Oh that was _delicious,_ ” Aziraphale hums and then thanks the cook in proper Japanese with a delighted smile- radiating that holy light when he smiled. “Crowley, please, let me get you something. Anything.” He insisted, licking his lip and then biting it with anticipation.  
“Oh- well- uh-” so Aziraphale asked if they prepared _okonomiyaki_ whatever that was. They didn’t, but he the cook was happy to recommend his favorite stall just down the block for it. Crowley paid the man and slid from the barstool with a natural grace that Aziraphale sometimes _envied._ They strolled side by side, elbows knocking together before Crowley just stood nearer to him, their shoulders rubbing together as they walked. This was often as close they got, making sure not to draw too much attention to themselves- well Aziraphale looked over the flaming red mane of his companion and wondered how the demon ever got around without attracting attention. Probably his charm makes him blend in, he pondered. They found the stall and Aziraphale ordered, asking Crowley what he wanted in it- “Pick something-”  
“You have to do it, my dear, now, if you need me to translate--”  
“I _do_ speak Japanese, angel,” he hisses with a light glare before looking over the items he could have it prepared with. Whilst they sat in wait, Aziraphale watched them make it, gleeful, telling Crowley all about some such nonsense. And Crowley? He was content to listen and sip the sake the angel had also purchased. He must have looked strange because Aziraphale glanced over and his smile fell just a bit.   
“Crowley?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Are you alright?”  
“Why wouldn’t I be, just peachy,” he said with a cough and downed the rest of his sake, making it refill without notice.  
“You just,” Aziraphale started but saw that he shouldn’t finish. “You just looked…”  
“Looked, what?”  
“Happy,” Aziraphale finally says but his eyes avert back to the food, though with less interest. “It was nothing, I felt- I thought I felt-” he wasn’t sure what he had felt- but it had been a warm and happy feeling emanating from the demon beside him. Crestfallen, he tried to look content with their food, utterly focusing upon it and _not_ Crowley. Assuring no passerbys would comment or happened thru, Crowley let his hand reach under the counter, finding its home upon a bouncing knee that went still immediately. Aziraphale glanced down and his mouth fell open a bit before he glanced to Crowley who was also watching the food now. The angel decidedly allowed himself to blush, hands tucking into his lap to… sweetly hold the hand that had been given so generously.  
“Maybe I am,” he says behind fingers propping the demon’s chin up.   
“What?”  
“Happy, maybe I am happy,” the demon says with a little hiss upon his voice. When their food was ready, they ate in quiet but content. If they had to use both of their hands, then their knees remained knocked against the other. Crowley would on occasion stretch his long legs outward, resting one on Aziraphale’s stool- just the proximity was enough for them both- the company.  
“Ah, I see, ripening the pig for slaughter,” came the gurgled noise of a voice between them. Aziraphale jumped at the voice but Crowley glared over his shoulder. “Mm, surprising, an angel contaminating their… holy vessel with _humanity.”_ This was said through teeth that morphed quickly into spikes- Famine. “I did miss you both, intervening in my plans- but you didn’t stop me. No one can.”  
“Let’s find out, Horseman-” Crowley started to sit up from the stool but Crowley pulled him back-  
“Crowley don’t, you can’t fight a Horseman,” the angel panted, harried and concern thick in his voice.  
“Well that is touching, the little demon feeding his little angel-” Famine must have thought it truly hilarious for he threw his head back with wild laughter. “My- I have seen everything now. Don’t overstuff yourself lamb- demons do love corrupting things most full-”  
“Enough!” Crowley roared, shaking the ground beneath them. Aziraphale could feel that he had stopped time with just a gesture- not even a really good one, either. He had just- stood- commanded time to obey. Had he… always been that powerful- to just _radiate_ his power outward- “What do you want Famine- it ssssertainly wasn’t to help usss to dinner.”  
“Oh, the demon is a little touchy, isn’t it,” he glanced to Aziraphale. “You better muzzle your pet, Principality. I came with some news, actually. A hint of what’s to come-” when he vanished his form shaped the last Horseman- Death. The last Horseman but by far not the least. The shape melted away like smoke leaving angel and demon ruffled and bewildered.  
“ ‘I looked and behind, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him’,” Crowley brought time back to a continuation, wiping the incident of the people in the area. His eyes flicked over his the rim of his glasses to Aziraphale who looked just as stricken. “Death hasn’t ever made an appearance before, has he?”  
“No, not like the others, I don’t think he needs to manifest himself as the others do, as death is apart of life,” Aziraphale murmurs nervously and Crowley can smell the fear on the angel-- he wants nothing more than to pacify the doubts sown in the angel’s head about what Famine said; _fattening a pig for slaughter._ It rang and circled in Aziraphale’s mind for quite some time, yet he didn’t jump when he felt a tentative hand stroke over his cheek.  
“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve poor manners, food all over your face,” Aziraphale chuckled, happy for the distraction, knowing _full-well_ there was nothing on his face. “More sake?”  
“I think, at our hotel though,” he insists and for now that doubt can be held off; the glow of being with Crowley, of the demon stepping forth with no hesitation to defend him. Like that night in Germany. Like that afternoon in Paris in the Bastille-- Crowley, whatever reason he was cast out, was selfless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I imagine Crowley to be fiercely defensive of Aziraphale, in all contexts, no matter what- whilst Aziraphale needs a shove or two- it needs to directly wound Crowley (thus Crowley taking the most protective actions over his angel)
> 
> Like I said, next chap will basically be light-smut-- not even smut, lots of kissing, lots of teasing, can't say more, yall just gotta hold out. Mind you, this would in theory be a few years before the apocalyptinot. Also, if you aren't into the story literally taking a nosedive into cute fluff with stripping, I suggest skipping the next chapter- cause that's all. it. is XD


End file.
